The Skies Will Clear
by lee.yu.10
Summary: "No sadness lasts forever," Ever since leaving her mother's home, Shyvana and her father went from one place to another. She spent her youth pursued by a drake and living as an outcast. Things only got worse when her father was killed, but just when she thought her life was at its worst, she met a prince who was far from home. Jarvan/Shyvana pairing. Contains profanity/dark themes
1. Chapter 1: Rage

**My first LoL fanfiction. I've got to admit, Shyvana is my favourite champion, and Jarvan/Shyvana is my favourite pairing. But first we'll have a bit of insight on Shyvana's past before we proceed on the romance. Nothing was mentioned about her mother, so I thought: Why not? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. Warning: Contains profanity and dark themes.**

**By the way, this story focuses on what happens before and during her lore. Perhaps after, as well. **

**Disclaimer: All characters of League of Legends belong to Riot Games. **

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**Chapter 1: Rage**

"Run, young one. Run to your father. He's the only one who can protect you. Go, go now," she hushed her daughter, pushing a sack of clothes and food into her tiny arms. Outside their house she could hear noises. Angry noises, shouts and high-pitched cries. Angry yells and screams of words she could not catch, except for a shrill cry of "_Freak_!" and "_Monster!_"

She looked up to her mother, expecting her to come with her when she turned her back. When she did not, she looked at her mother again. Her mother, a petite Demacian farm-girl with bright red hair like hers, looked frantically out of the window before pulling the curtains together.

Her mother frowned when Shyvana still stood there staring at her with her bright golden eyes. "What are you waiting for? Your father is waiting for you. Out. Off you go,"

"But mother, what about you?"

"It doesn't matter. Listen to me, Shyvana. You have to leave," she took a quick peek through the curtains before glaring at her.

"But mother-"

"Did you not understand me? _Gods, _stop being so stubborn, sweet child," she sighed and gently pushed Shyvana to the back door, which would lead her through the woods where Shyvana's father, her beloved would be waiting.

"You're not coming with us?" she asked, her eyes full of innocence. "Why are the people outside so angry?"

The farm-girl stood still and tried to think of an answer that wouldn't scare her. The village wanted her head for betraying humankind and carrying the child of a dragon. they would not stop until she was dead. She knew they wouldn't dare harm Shyvana as long as her father was still alive. He would love her and protect her like he did with her.

She wanted to go with the Celestial dragon. She wanted to live out her life watching their daughter grow. But she knew that if she went with them, the village would pledge the Lightshields, the Royals of Demacia to slay the dragon, just so they could get rid of her, a traitor who gave birth to an abomination.

She had to die. She knew it.

She looked into her daughter's bright amber eyes, just like her father's. If she had to die, she would not want her child to live through her childhood missing a mother. She closed her eyes and fought back tears, mustering malice and menace in her voice.

"It's because I don't want you anymore," she said. Those words were poisonous, and instantaneously found its mark. She watched as Shyvana's eyes widened with shock, and tears immediately welled up in them. At that moment, she hated herself for having to do this to her.

"I don't want to live my life caring for a half-dragon. I want a child who is purely human, who does not have blue-grey scaly skin or golden eyes. I loved your father, but a normal child is something he couldn't give me, and I want that more than I want him," she continued. Shyvana was now sobbing, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Her heart shattered at the sight of her daughter in that state. All she wanted was to take her in her arms and apologize for her cruel words.

Cruel words, yet necessary.

However, her daughter was relentless. "But mother you once said-"

"_I don't care what I once said!_" she shouted. "Get out. Or I'll make you,"

Shyvana held the sack tightly to her chest, her nose and eyes red as she wailed freely. Her cries reverberated throughout the house. She took a step backwards reluctantly, refusing to believe what her mother said. Until her mother grabbed a wooden spoon and waved it angrily at her, pushing her towards the door.

"_Get out!_" she swiftly opened the back door, and roughly shoved Shyvana out of the house.

Shyvana fell on her rear, still clutching the sack and crying for her mother. She hastily climbed to her feet and was about to run back into her house when she slammed the door shut, locking it so Shyvana had no choice but to go to her father.

She leaned her back to the door, heaving slightly as Shyvana knocked on the door vigorously, begging for her mother to open up and give her another chance. Her cries only grew louder, making her heart clench with guilt. She let her tears fall freely this time, wishing that her daughter would understand and forgive her.

_How would she understand? I wouldn't blame her if she hates me. She's only five, she does not deserve this. _

She listened as the knocks continued, then suddenly, silence.

She was worried and frightened that maybe the villagers had got her. If that was the case they would kill her without hesitation. She pulled back the curtain and looked out of the window, relief and remorse both crashing down on her when she was greeted with the sight of Shyvana's back towards her house, her home, running towards the forest to meet her father. She watched as her beloved daughter became smaller and smaller, until she disappeared into the clearing. Not once did Shyvana look back.

Her hand clasped over her mouth as she sobbed freely. It was too late for regrets now, but she knew her beloved would protect her daughter and raise her right, her beautiful daughter even if she is only half-human.

The voices of the angry mob grew louder and louder, but it was the rough and violent knock on her front door that startled her. She looked for a place to hide, and before she could, the front door caved in, revealing a few men with pitchforks and burning torches. One of them held a sledgehammer which had brought down the door.

"_Traitor!"_

_"Whore!"_

_"Dragon's wench!"_

_"Seize her!"_

She could only scream as the mob poured into her house, pushing things aside and shattering objects. A few men and women seized her and pulled her out of her house. She held onto a couch for dear life, her nails carving lines onto the couch. She screamed and cried for mercy, but the mob was too loud to hear her pleas.

Soon, they were dragging her out of her house to the centre of the village. Her dress was muddied and torn, scabs and bruises visible on her arms and legs. Along the way, villagers threw stones and rotten eggs at her, yelling obscenities and throwing insults in her way. Tears streamed down her face, begging them to stop hurting her and be done with it. The men then shoved her roughly to her knees, and when she looked up to see her manner of execution, her heart sank with panic and fear.

All the villagers, even the children had gathered around the square to watch the traitor executed. In the middle of the square where the mob had surrounded was a huge wooden stake, around it were piles of hay and twigs and branches. Two men dragged her towards the stake by her arms, pulling her wrists behind her and binding her to the stake with a rope. The rope was rough and bit into her skin, drawing blood.

Being burnt alive was a horrible way to die. Her death would be painful and slow.

She shuddered in fear as one of the men strode forward with a burning torch in hand, lowering it to the pile of hay and setting it on fire. She could not even find the energy to scream, to yell at the villagers to stop. Soon, the temperature escalated rapidly, the heat surrounding her as orange flames licked away, devouring everything in its path. Sweat beaded on her forehead and soon the heat became unbearable. Smoke clouded her vision, and the roaring flames drowned out the angry sounds of the mob.

She tried to think of something that would not remind her of her current predicament, something that would distract her from her imminent death. Her mind came upon a memory when she met her lover, a Celestial dragon licking his wounds beside a river. She looked after him with great care, feeling sorry for the wounded dragon. And the sympathy in her heart soon blossomed into love. She loved it when he would morph into his human form and whisper endearments into her ear. She loved it when he would embrace her with his huge leathery wings in his dragon form, giving her heat during one of those cold wintry nights. She loved it when he had transformed into a dragon to scare off a few bandits who had tried to harm her on the outskirts of the village, which had caused the angry mob that was burning her alive right now.

And she loved it the most when he had given her a daughter. A beautiful daughter with her hair and his eyes, even if it meant they had to cover her in rags and hood just to hid her draconian features. Shyvana was special in every way, and she loved it.

Her mind stayed on one memory where the three of them were laughing at a dinner table. It was Shyvana's third birthday, and her father had hunted a deer because Shyvana loved venison. She remembered laughing at him when he had accidentally burnt the meat since he insisted he wanted to cook for his daughter. She remembered the gleeful laughter that poured out of the young girl's mouth as her father tossed her high into the air, a joyful gleam in his eyes.

The flames were now licking her skin, melting her flesh. Despite the immense pain she felt, she smiled at the memory.

Her only regret was that her daughter would never understand why she had to utter those words. She only hoped that her lover would instead.

* * *

The dragon was now in his human form, clutching his daughter's small form as she sobbed freely into his shoulder. He stood under a huge tree on a small hill that looked over the distant village. Though far away, he noticed a bright mote of flame in the centre of the village that flickered about, smoke rising in the air and surrounded by hundreds of people. He sighed sadly as he figured out what had happened.

He wanted to turn into a dragon and burn down the entire village. He wanted the whole village to hear his grief. He wanted to cause them pain, just as they had cause hers.

But if he did that, people would be sent after him to slay him. Even if they had killed him and left his daughter alone, she would be alone, no one to care for her. She would eventually starve to death.

When Shyvana came running to him with a tear-streaked face, he was worried. When she told him her mother's cruel words, he only closed his eyes with sadness and wrapped his arms around his young daughter. He mulled over what his daughter told him, and grimaced as he realization dawned on him. But she was far too young to understand.

He understood the reason behind his loved one's words. But if he divulged it to Shyvana, she would only cry even more and refuse to leave without her mother. Her hatred for humankind would grow and fester, and she would vow vengeance on the villagers. That was the last thing her mother ever wanted. Both of them wanted to teach Shyvana how to love, just so she wouldn't mirror the selfishness and bitter rage of both dragon-kin and humankind.

Instead, he kept quiet and embraced her, watching as sobs wracked her small form.

Silently, he mourned for the death of the Demacian farm-girl. He knew she would always be alive as long as he remembered her and the moments they had together. He would remember her vibrant red hair and her laughing blue eyes, and her soft hands when she had tended to his wounds when he was being hunted by the humans.

The old dragon made a promise to her. As long as he was still alive, no harm would come to his sweet daughter. He would raise her and teach her the ways of both dragon-kin and humankind. He would teach her how to survive, how to fight and how to love.

Most importantly he would teach her how to protect the ones dearest to her, just so she wouldn't fail to protect her loved ones like he did.

He turned his back on the village with Shyvana still shivering in his arms, and walked further into the forest.

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**And there goes the first chapter. I hope you liked it. **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. I will update as soon as I can. **


	2. Chapter 2: Hunter

**Thank you, Stormflight, for the thoughtful review and your high hopes for this story. I will try my best. :)**

**There you go, the second chapter.**

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**Chapter 2: Hunter**

In the distant jungle deep in the Kumungu plains, a doe bent down near a stream to take a drink. This region of the jungle was close to the hot, burning deserts of Shurima, and it was proven true if one were to notice the scarcity of plants or trees. The canopy of leaves provide little shade, given how strong beams of sunlight were still able to pierce through the shade and heat up the jungle floors.

The doe's ear twitched, as though sensing movement. It looked over its shoulder, eyes blinking and looking for potential threat. Later, it bent down towards the stream again, drinking as much as it could.

Among the bushes hid the young half-dragon, watching the doe carefully as she made not a sound. It was near, just a few feet away from her.

_Stealth is a hunter's best weapon, _she remembered what her father said. _And patience a hunter's biggest challenge. _

Shyvana hated being patient. Aggressive was her nature, and she preferred to get things done quickly instead of waiting for the best chance. But if she wanted a full meal, she had no choice but to wait for the right moment to attack.

The moment the doe dismissed all worries of a lurking predator, Shyvana summoned all her fury, flames starting to dance across her blue-grey skin. She could feel her body surge with power, anger filling her mind and soul. When she was ready, she leapt out of the bush, roaring as flames swirled around her. Claws and talons and horns tore through her human skin, wings expanded and she grew a tail. Her bright red hair ran down her spine like a fiery red mane as she felt her limbs grow longer and stronger. Her face lengthened into a snout with a maw filled with two rows of sharp teeth and her eyes narrowed into golden reptilian slits. Her voice went from a girl's high-pitched cries to a fearsome rumble of a dragon. Her size doubled, and she was now larger than her prey.

Shyvana extended her wings and glided through the air, landing on the poor doe with her claws and talons aiming for its vital points. Her claws sank into the doe's pelt and flesh, blood seeping as the doe whined piteously. She clamped her jaw on her prey's neck, her fangs plunging into the animal's veins. A coppery scent filled her mouth, and the taste of blood awakened her bestial instincts. Shyvana did not relent until the doe gave up and its legs gave way, dropping dead to the ground as blood flowed freely from its wounds.

Shyvana reverted back to her human form, heaving slightly as she felt the muscles in her limbs throb with pain. Her father had taught her to rely on her dragon's instincts and channel her draconian strength to control her transformation. It had proven difficult, and it had taken a few months for her to harness her power as a dragon. Even if she had mastered her transformation, it would tire her the instant she became human again, giving her sore muscles and a pounding headache.

It had been a year since she and her father ran away from their home. Since her mother had chased her out of their house.

Since then, her father had always taken her from one place to another, through the Great Barrier and through the Mogron Pass, showing her the wonders of Valoran. They were sights to behold, but they never settled in one place for far too long. As beautiful and wondrous those places may be, Shyvana still longed for a home. Shyvana had never asked why they had to go from place to place, and whenever they were near human civilization her father would insist that she pull up her hood and keep her head down. The reason behind it? She knew that a normal human did not have blue-grey skin covered with scales or bright golden eyes, but she did not understand the consequence if humans were to see her, a half-dragon.

When she asked her father why they were in the Kumungu jungles, he only answered with that solemn voice he had adopted since he left home, "To train you, my child,"

Over the months, her father taught her how to hunt, how to distinguish edible nuts from poisonous fruits, how to be resourceful and how to fight. Training was good. It kept her from thinking about her mother. Thoughts of her mother always left her feeling sad and hateful.

Shyvana tied up the doe's legs and dragged it across the forest grounds, heading back to the cave where she and her father currently resided. She counted paces as she walked through bushes and between trees, already knowing every nook and cranny of the Kumungu jungle.

It was almost dusk by the time Shyvana had reached the cave, a wide, cavernous and moist terrain where Shyvana's father had made it as their temporary settlement. Her father was in his human form, a pile of firewood in one hand and a makeshift axe in another. At the mouth of the cave laid a heap of game - three rabbits, a snake and a large elk. All except the elk were skinned, and judging from the puncture in their eyes and the absence of blood on the elk's pelt, her father must have shot them through the eye with his makeshift bow and his makeshift arrows.

Shyvana looked down at her kill. A small, mangled doe that was only half the size of the elk, with its tongue lolling about and blood staining its pelt. She had to use all her draconic strength to bring down her prey, yet her father only needed his heightened dragon senses and tools made from resources in the forest. She could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"You're back," his father smiled and took the doe from her, producing a knife that was once a piece of rock. With deft hands, he started skinning the doe, noticing the stains of blood and small puncture wounds. "A little messy, but practice makes perfect,"

"You always say that," Shyvana pouted, sitting on a large boulder as she watched her father work on their meal.

Her father looked up. "And I will keep saying that until your hunting skills are perfect. Go build a fire," he gestured to the pile of firewood.

She obeyed and gathered the wood, using two rocks and grinding them together to make a spark. She had been doing this ever since they were here, and she couldn't help the growing curiosity in her heart.

At night, they had a fire going as they feasted on the doe that Shyvana had hunted. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. That night, she finally asked the question that she had always wanted to ask ever since her father began her training, to quench the curiosity in her.

"Father, we are dragons, aren't we?" she asked, taking a bite out of her meal.

Her father looked at her and frowned, nodding his head.

"If we could produce flames at will, why would you still have me build a fire? If we are dragons, why do we still have to hunt and use tools like a human?" she asked.

Her father was quiet for a while. He laid his meal down and took a swig from his flask, his fierce yet weary golden eyes fixed on Shyvana's. "Supposedly said, you are on your own in a forest, and you stumbled upon a band of human travelers and they wanted to stay with you for a night, you can't just conjure flames out of nowhere, can you?"

Shyvana said nothing.

"And," he continued. "You have to keep your identity to yourself, when you're with humans, you have to be human. Even if you're just half-human. You can't let them suspect you, and the only way to do that is to try to be as human as possible, rely on your human instincts and try to survive like any other human would. As long as you keep your hood up, wrap yourself in a cloak that covers your skin and do what humans do, they won't even know that you're only half of what they are,"

Shyvana looked down and ate in silence. Her father's brow only furrowed even more. He could tell that she wasn't satisfied with his answer.

"Shyvana. What is your question, truly?"

"Nothing,"

"Something's bothering you, I know," he sighed. "Speak, child,"

Shyvana kept quiet. Then, she spoke in a small voice. "Why do the humans hate us?"

He thought for a while before answering, "They don't hate us, they just... fear us," he paused. "Our strength surpasses theirs, and they don't understand our power. Dragons have always seen themselves as a majestic race, and it is because of this that other races try to stay as far away from the dragons as possible. This gives humans fear. And fear does miraculous things to humans. It makes them frightened, yet it gives them strength that they never possessed. Have you heard of tales of the dragonslayers?"

Shyvana shook her head nervously.

"They are humans who slay dragons for the sake of glory and fame, to prove themselves mighty and heroic," he chuckled as he saw Shyvana shudder. "If any human in any human civilization that we've walked upon learns of your existence, I don't doubt that word would spread far to the Kingdoms of Demacia or far into the tribes of Freljord. They would send people to hunt us down, just for the sake of proving themselves and carving their names into the history of Runeterra,"

"Then, why didn't we go live with the dragon-kin? If we are dragons like they are, surely they would accept us, right?"

Her father's mouth fell open, yet no answer came out. He stared at her daughter and tried to think of a reasonable answer, but he could not find one that wouldn't wound his daughter's heart.

_It__'__s because I laid with your mother, _he thought sadly. _They view you as nothing more than an abomination, a taint in the dragon__'__s bloodline that must be removed. If they know of your existence, they would kill you._

His silence was noted, and Shyvana smiled sadly. "Is it the same reason as to why mother left me? They don't want a child that's not entirely a dragon?"

He kept quiet. He could hear disdain in her voice every time she spoke of her mother, yet he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. It hurt him to see his daughter that way, yet he could do nothing about it.

_Your mother loves you, _he wanted to tell her. _She always will, and so will I. _

He threw the remains of his meal into the fire. Shyvana did the same, as she lost her appetite during the conversation. He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. "Come, Shyvana. I would like to show you something,"

And so she followed him as they climbed to the top of the cave. It was a tedious and dangerous climb, the jagged rocks jutting out and the slope was steep. When they reached the peak, Shyvana was panting. Her father prompted her to look up, and so she did. She gasped.

On the forest grounds, the trees usually covered up the sight of the night sky, but up there on the cave, she could see and point out every stars that littered across the skies, bright and shimmering with the moon slightly covered by wisps of cotton clouds. The view was beyond spectacular.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" her father said, smiling at her shocked expression. "It's one of those rare days where the clouds don't cover up everything,"

"Cover up everything?" she looked at her father innocently.

"Yes," he nodded. "Some days, the dark clouds would cover up the skies, swallowing everything from our sight. The stars, the moon. Taking everything away from our sight, just like our lives did,"

Shyvana's eyes twinkled with sadness. She thought of her mother and her home, for unknown reasons she was chased out of her house. Her cruel fate claimed her happiness, her home and her love for her mother. Until now she did not understand the reason behind her mother's rejection.

"But remember, my sweet child," he knelt down so that he was at the same height as his daughter's, looking into her eyes while cupping her cheeks with both hands. "If you ever look up to the skies and find that they're looking bad; if your heart ever loses all its hope, consumed by misery and grief and hatred, just remember. After dawn approaches, the sun will shine, and all the dust will go. Then, the skies will be clear and beautiful once again. No sadness lasts forever,"

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "She left me. She said she didn't want us anymore. How can I ever forgive her?"

"Your mother did what she thought was right," he said sadly. "Sometimes, life does not always look up to you. Nothing is fair, but if life is all about happiness, then it would be meaningless and we would not value it as much as we do now," he combed his fingers through her red hair, thinking of her mother. "Remember the happy times we had together as a family, cherish those memories. Then you will find it in yourself to forgive her,"

Suddenly, Shyvana threw her arms around her father's neck, locking him in a tight embrace. "You wouldn't leave me like mother did, right? You would always be around for me, right father?"

_I am old and worn, sweet child, _his lips curled into a grimace. _I want to protect you, but I can't keep you safe forever. It is only a matter of time before my own kind seeks me out and execute me, just to get to you._

But he heard the desperation in her voice and he could not bring himself to hurt her anymore. He returned her embrace and planted a kiss on the top of her head, smiling sadly. "Silly girl," he chuckled. "I will always be here for you. You are all that matters,"

Shyvana only sniffed. He kept holding her, dreading that one day he may have to do what her mother did - leaving her behind just to keep her safe.

* * *

It came in the middle of the night.

The villagers did not have the chance to alert the Kingdom of Demacia about the attack. It came suddenly without warning. Waves and waves of flames poured from the dark, night sky, lighting houses and watchtowers on fire. Soldiers in the village screamed and ran as they burned, dropping dead as nothing more than a charred corpse.

Soon all the villagers were awake, whether by the heat or the screams or the ridiculously bright lights that shone from outside their windows, no one cared. All they knew was that the village was under attack and they had to run for their lives. By whom, though, it was none of their concern.

And so they ran as more fire rained down upon them. There were screams and death everywhere, cries of children and wails of dying elders. Only a handful of soldiers were left, and they still held their weapons aloft, ready to face the threat like a true Demacian would.

What they were not prepared to face, though, was a huge reptilian monster that landed with a thud in front of them. Its scaly skin was pure black from its snout to its tail, with silver-tipped horns. Its fangs were as long as their swords, its claws curved like scythes. When the behemoth expanded its wings, it shrouded the men in darkness, even blocking the bright light of the burning chaos around them. When it stood on its hind legs, it was as tall as the watchtowers themselves.

"_Dragon!_" one of the villagers screamed. The dragon opened its maw filled with treacherous teeth, and breathed fire upon the villagers, burning all in its path.

"_Where is the child?!_" it bellowed, its voice full of rage and hatred, disgust and spite.

The remaining soldiers cowered in fear, their hands trembling and legs shuddered with fear. One of them wet himself, and the dragon stared with its red eyes, amused.

"_Tell me,_" the dragon strode forward, its snout close to the men. "_Where is the child?_"

"Wh-what child?" they quivered.

"_The Half-Dragon. The abomination. I know she's here, I know she lived here. I know,_" the dragon feigned a look of disgust. "_I was told she was born here. Give her to me,_"

"The Halfling?" one of the soldiers answered. "She isn't here! I swear, she left with her father a year ago. We burnt her mother for her crimes, please, we're telling you the truth!"

"_Left? You allowed that abomination to walk the earth freely as she likes?_"

"It... it was none of our concern, her mother paid for it. Her father is a dragon, we can't just..." the soldier yelped when the dragon roared with frustration, its eyes of molten gold glaring at them.

The dragon growled with irritation. It had taken him years to find out where the half-dragon lived, yet when he came they had already left. The Celestial dragon must have wiped away their trails, covering their scent so the dragonkind could not tail them. Clever. It would take him even longer to hunt down the half-dragon throughout Valoran.

He swiped his claws at the men, slicing them into shreds of flesh and blood. "_Petty creatures,_" he spat in fury. "_Can't even capture a girl. You will all pay for that child!_"

It opened its mouth and let loose another torrent of flames, destroying houses and buildings and towers, leaving nothing but ruins and death behind. On that night, no one was left alive. None was given mercy.

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**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are very much appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3: A Fair Trade

**Chapter 3: A Fair Trade**

The blazing heat of Shurima could have been unbearable to most, more so when the sun is at its peak. The air was still and dead, not even a tiniest bit of breeze rolled across the Shurima desert. Not a single wisp of cloud was seen either, hence the bright sun in the sky that shone with intensity.

As hot as it may be, the residents of Bel'Zhun wore long linen robes that covered every inch of their skin, and hoods that hid most of their faces. This protected them from the harmful rays of the sun, which if exposed one may be prone to dehydration, possibly even death.

And so Shyvana's father decided to use this to their advantage - they could cover themselves in robes and hoods and no one would suspect anything. They had been to other towns and villages where people wouldn't stop staring at their odd choice of clothing, leaving him no choice but to flee usually a few days later lest they find out who they really are.

Fortunately, they are dragons, which meant the heat hardly bothers them.

_Good, _the old dragon pulled down his hood to conceal more of his face. _We could really use some time to settle down. _

The old dragon looked at the hooded form of his daughter, carrying a sack over her shoulder that contained spoils of monsters and creatures that they had slew and hunted while traveling along the Great Barrier. They could trade the spoils with the merchants in towns and villages for a few bags of gold to buy them food and a room for the night. It had been a perilous journey through the Great Barrier, and he took the opportunity to train Shyvana, watching her grow stronger and wiser each day.

It had been years since they had left the Kumungu jungles.

Shyvana was now a young woman, having gone past puberty. Her bosom had grown into budding breasts, and her hips had grown wider. In the previous year, she had flowered, and he remembered how he flushed and struggled to explain what menstruation meant and how she should deal with it. Luckily for him, his daughter was a quick-learner. She understood quickly and could not help but feel amused at her father's embarrassment.

She was now almost as tall as him, but in dragon form she was still smaller than him. He was a Celestial dragon after all, one of the rarest dragons in Runeterra.

They were both walking towards a stone building with the sign of a shield at its front door. _Armory, _he thought. Blacksmiths usually offer higher prices for materials carved from monsters in the Great Barrier. The Great Barrier was known for its harsh climates and endless sandstorms, and creatures that lived there usually are more adapted to such conditions. Using their materials, weapons and armor made would be more durable and valuable.

They were about to enter the armory, when they noticed people walking faster, keeping their hoods down. Some gestured to the sky and the distant horizon. Merchants who were selling products out in the streets began packing their goods, and shopkeepers started closing the shutters and calling it a day.

He listened carefully, using his dragon senses to pick up the words the people of Bel'Zhun were saying. The people here spoke the ancient Shuriman tongue, and although conversational it took him a while to understand them. He caught phrases such as "… sandstorm….", "… it will be dangerous…" and "… find cover….". Regardless, it meant ill news.

"Father?" Shyvana took a quick glance at the people around them, frowning slightly. "What's the matter?"

"A sandstorm is coming. A great one, " he said and hastened his pace, his daughter following behind. "There isn't much time. We have to go to the inn and take cover, or all the travelers and merchants would have taken up all the rooms in the inn. We can sell these tomorrow,"

Shyvana's frown only deepened. "We didn't have much gold left, did we? How are we suppose to buy a room for two?"

The old dragon slipped his hands into his bag of coins, cursing when there were only three pieces of silver left_. We will never make it, the damned blacksmiths will need time to weigh each spoil and decide its value. And by then, the sandstorms would be approaching…._

"Why don't you leave it to me?" Shyvana asked.

"What?" he asked, incredulous with his daughter's suggestion. "It's too dangerous, I can't leave you out here alone,"

"You don't have a choice," Shyvana countered. "I'm not a child anymore. It's just a small errand, I can do it. Meanwhile, you can persuade the innkeeper to secure us a room,"

The old dragon's lips were pursed in a thin line. He hated leaving her alone, but she was right, they needed coins to buy them a meal and a room. He let out an exasperated sigh, and nodded in agreement.

"Just be careful," he lifted his sack and handed it over to her. "I'll meet you at the inn,"

Shyvana grabbed the sack and nodded, running towards the armory. The old dragon looked for directions to the inn, and soon found it.

* * *

When Shyvana entered the armory, it was the messiest place she had ever seen.

The forge was obviously behind the building, as she could feel heat emanating from that direction. Shields and bucklers were heaped in one corner of the store, lances and spears leaned against the wall opposite swords and war hammers. She was taken aback by the array of weaponry, and almost forgot the reason she was there until a voice called out to her.

"Child!" the blacksmith yelled in the bastardized Shuriman tongue. Shyvana couldn't help but cringe when he called her a child. She stared at him, hood still lowered to hide her eyes. "The sandstorm is coming, go home now,"

She was not skilled in the ancient tongue, but she was fluent in the bastardized, or modern version of it, and for that she was grateful. "I need gold," she pleaded, her tongue rolling with the harsh tones of Shuriman tongue. "I have materials that come from the great beasts of the Great Barrier. I'm sure you would like to take a look,"

He remained unconvinced. "No, I'm closing now," he walked out of the forge and was heading her way.

Shyvana panicked, and felt flames dance across her fingertips. "Wait!" she exclaimed. She willed herself to calm down and tried to put out her flame, then took a deep breath before reaching a hand into one of the sacks and fished out a round stone as large as her hand that shone with an eerie blue light, illuminating the dark interior of the armory. The blacksmith's eyes widened in shock when he saw what it was.

"The Eye of the Golem," his voice was filled with awe. "This is a rare material used for enchantment. Where did you obtain this?"

"From the Golem itself," Shyvana huffed, proud of herself. He looked at her skeptically, which Shyvana promptly added, "My father slew it. It took quite an effort to shatter the Golem's armor. But it _is _extremely rare, no?" she allowed herself a triumphant grin. No doubt the Eye could fetch a high price.

"Show me what else you have,"

Shyvana upended both sacks onto a wooden table, fangs and pelts and claws tumbling out of the sacks. It wasn't much, but most of them were rare materials. Only a few hunters or mercenaries dare venture far into the Great Barrier as the vile place was notorious for its dangerous monsters and vicious beasts. Shyvana and her father may be neither hunter nor mercenary, but they aren't human either.

The blacksmith lifted a weighing scale and an eyepiece before proceeding with weighing the materials and looking through his eyepiece, checking if the materials were forgeries. He warily lifted the Heart of Brambleback with armored gloves, hissing when the gloves began smoking. He turned over a Murk Wolf pelt and looked for any signs of scars, before inspecting the fangs and claws that Shyvana and her father had carved from raptors and giant lizards. His eyes shone with fascination when he saw the wraith crystals, a spoil that they had obtained when they stumbled upon a rare group of wraiths.

After all that was done, the blacksmith dropped a heavy bag in front of her. The bag hit the table with the sound of jingling coins, before he slit the bag open. Shyvana smiled excitedly when the coins fell out of the bag, but her smile died and was filled with disappointment instead when there were only three to four gold pieces, a few silver coins and most of them ironcoins.

Three gold pieces could only buy them a meal. She doubted that the innkeeper would accept silver, let alone ironcoins. They would be forced out of the inn while the sandstorm hits.

The blacksmith saw how her shoulders slump with disappointment, so he gave her an apologetic shrug. "That's all I have. Business has been rough. I can't afford the Heart, but I'll have the Eye of the Golem and the pelt. And these claws and fangs as well," he said, his hands retrieving the goods that he wanted.

"I need _gold_," she whined, her voice with a hint of anger. "I'm sure the Eye is worth much more than this,"

"I've got mouths to feed as well, child," the blacksmith fought back. "I do not have that much gold to offer, things had gotten rough lately. Bel'Zhun is a dying town,"

When Shyvana did not take the bag of coins, the blacksmith sighed. He reached to the back of the armory before appearing with a large set of rusty gauntlets. He dropped it on the table with a heavy thump, pushing the bag of coins forward.

Shyvana couldn't help but reach out a hand to stroke the faded red and golden metal surface of the gauntlet. She lifted one of the gauntlet and turned it over, surprised to find that the underside of the gauntlet was bone which was already yellow with age. Fangs and a row of sharp teeth protruded from the edges of the gauntlet, a leather strap where the wearer's hand would be.

She lifted the other gauntlet which was larger and heavier, with the same row of teeth but with longer fangs. She noticed the opposite end of the gauntlet had two jagged horns. When she matched both gauntlets together, she gasped.

It formed the head of a dragon, the steel that was fused with the skull and jaw had once been painted red and gold. Judging from the poor condition of the gauntlets, they must have met several owners. However, the craftsmanship was both delicate and splendid, a weapon that once emitted an aura of beauty and ferocity.

"Forged from a full-grown dragon's skull, before fusing it with rare Ionian ore," the blacksmith nodded with approval. "It may be rusty, but the steel and bone are still strong and tough. It can be used as a shield and also a weapon. Impressive, is it not? If polished, they would be returned to their former glory. The man who forged this must have been a prodigy,"

Shyvana was still dumbfounded, awestruck by the gauntlets' beauty and grace. The blacksmith grinned when he saw that she was attracted by the weapon.

"The dragon gauntlets for the Eye. Fair trade?" he asked.

Shyvana wanted the pair of gauntlets for herself, her instincts telling her to accept the blacksmith's offer. Then she remembered her father waiting at the inn, and her brows knitted with frustration. The gauntlets won't buy them a cover from the sandstorm.

"I still need the gold," she persisted, looking up at him. The blacksmith cursed with fury, his eyes seething with anger. Until something behind her caught his attention.

"I'll pay for the Heart of Brambleback," a deep voice rumbled.

Shyvana whirled around and saw three men clad in armor. They all look identical, with cropped brown hair and yellow eyes. The one in the middle who spoke wore chainmail with steel vambraces and greaves, carrying a pair of matching daggers at his hips. The largest of the three was covered from neck to toe with dirty grey steel armor, a greatsword strapped to his back. The smallest among them wore only a leather vest and leather breeches, with a crossbow strapped to his back.

Before Shyvana could ask who they were, the blacksmith spoke with reverence, "The Ra'khiri triplets. Bounty hunters. They are well-known throughout the northern regions of Shurima,"

The one in the middle, whom Shyvana assumed to be the leader, walked forward before pulling out a short sword and laying it before the blacksmith. "I'll help you purchase the Heart of Brambleback, and you will enchant my sword with it. I'll pay for the enchantment as well," he looked at the hooded figure beside him, his height easily surpassing hers. "You did say you need gold, did you not?"

Shyvana only nodded, flabbergasted with the three men's sudden appearance.

"Right away," the blacksmith bowed deeply, lifting the short sword and handling it with care. He immediately started working with the Heart, chipping its edges and pouring its fiery essence into a small metal bowl.

"Here," the young man gripped Shyvana's gloved hand and placed a few gold coins into it. When Shyvana counted the number of coins she received, she gasped. He had given her more than the Heart's worth.

"It's just -"

"Keep it," he grinned. "Hunting a Brambleback is no easy feat," He turned to the blacksmith and paid as well, his two brothers standing behind him like sentries. The one with the greatsword was always scowling, his lips curled in a grimace. Whereas the one with the crossbow looked carefree, eying the armor and weapons around the armory, until he caught sight of the gauntlets on the table.

"Are these for sale?" the smallest of the three asked, touching the rusted surface of the dragon gauntlet with admiration. Shyvana opened her mouth to say no, but the blacksmith cut in before she could say anything.

"I traded the gauntlets with this young woman for the Eye of the Golem,"

"That's a pity," the one with the crossbow frowned. He glared at her scornfully. "I don't see how a _girl _like you could even carry a weapon that size,"

"Kaj," the leader reprimanded. "You never know if this girl may be capable of kicking your arse. How else do you think she would have all these spoils?" he turned to Shyvana. "Forgive my brother for his behavior, he had always been the cocky one among us," he held out a hand, smiling apologetically. Kaj only sneered and mumbled a string of curses.

Shyvana grasped his hand in hers, shaking it firmly. "Forgiven,"

"You better leave," the blacksmith said, drawing their attention. He pointed towards the shutters that were trembling violently. The wind from the outside picked up the dust along the road, swirling into a miniature twister. "The sandstorm is coming," he turned his gaze to Shyvana, "We did have a fair trade, no?"

Shyvana lifted the pair of gauntlets and pocketed the bag of coins she had received. "Yes," beneath the hood, she grinned impishly. "It's a fair trade,"

* * *

When Shyvana entered the inn, it was in an uproar.

Travellers and merchants argued with the innkeeper, their raised voices shaking the inn. Shyvana looked for her father, pushing through the crowd and wincing at the horrible stench of sweat around her. Her father was in the middle of the crowd, hands raised either in an angry gesture or to placate the innkeeper, she did not know. Next to him was a burly man with hair everywhere but not his head, yelling at her father.

The innkeeper's face was red with anger, yelling that he had no rooms left to the crowd behind her father, at the same time shaking his fists at him telling him to _fuck off_. Until Shyvana slammed several gold coins on the table before the innkeeper.

The crowd kept quiet at once, staring at the small hooded figure who had entered without their notice. The old dragon and the hairy man looked at Shyvana with shock, surprised with her intrusion.

"Keep the change," Shyvana puffed her cheeks. "Two meals and a room for my father and I. I'm sure I offered more than this man did," she gestured to the hairy man.

The innkeeper quickly counted the gold pieces, biting each one hard to make sure they were real gold. He nodded to her and grinned, giving her the key to their room. The crowd behind her immediately dispersed, some leaving the inn looking for other shelters, some going back to their tables enjoying their ale.

"I have been gone for a while and the inn is in chaos," Shyvana whispered to her father, approaching an empty table. "What's wrong with them?"

"Some are desperate for a shelter, some just want to pick a fight," her father grumbled. She could see his face twisted with anger. "_A while_?! You had been gone for almost an hour!"

"The blacksmith refused to pay me for the Eye. It took me a while," she explained. A young maiden laid down two mugs of ginger ale before them, before serving them two plates full of food. "Well, not until -"

"_This is an outrage!_"

Everyone in the inn looked to the source of the noise, who was the hairy man from earlier. His face was almost purple with fury, his hand clenched into fists. He glared at Shyvana and her father, before rushing forward and grabbing her father by his collar, lifting him into the air.

"I had the room first, until your whore daughter turns up and _took what I paid for_!" he shouted into his face, spit hitting his cheeks. The hood still concealed half of the old dragon's face, or his assailant would have seen how his eyes shone with rage.

"Took what you paid for?" the old dragon spat. "'The one with the most coins is the winner', that's what a Shuriman trader would tell you. Plus, the innkeeper offered me the key. Did you not threaten the innkeeper with that puny sword of yours as well?"

He roared like a savage, and slammed the old dragon onto the table. He drew his sword and pointed it to his throat before Shyvana could grab him. Her father grunted, struggling against his tight grasp.

Shyvana's rage was boiling. She could feel her hands heating up, almost scorching the gloves she wore.

"_Puny?!_" he yelled. "Says the man who covers himself from head to toe even in the inn! Walking everywhere under a hood, that makes you a _fucking_ craven," he looked at Shyvana with an amused expression. "And your daughter, perhaps she is lovely underneath. Maybe I can have a taste of her after I'm done with you, old man,"

Tiny wisps of flame danced across her hands, her gloves hissing when they came into contact with the heat.

"What do you say?" the man winked at her, grinning like a pervert. He licked his lips obscenely. "Let me have some fun with you, and maybe I'll consider offering the room to you and this _craven_," he hissed on the last word, slamming her father again against the table, the sword dangerously close to his neck.

Shyvana was ready to lash out, when a hand clasped the man's shoulder. He turned back, annoyed, and was met with a hard punch across the cheek. The impact thrown him off, landing face-first on the floor, his sword clattering noisily beside him.

Everyone in the inn gasped, while the innkeeper counted his coins nonchalantly, as though he had seen too much bar fights to even give a damn about it.

The assailant was a lot taller than the hairy man and her father, His scowl and glare were intimidating, as a few men retreated back into the shadows to keep as much distance from him.

Shyvana recognized him as one of the Ra'khiri triplets, the largest one with a greatsword on his back. His massive build blocked his two brothers, who stepped out from behind him. The leader, the one who gave her the coins, twirled one of his daggers in his hand, looking down at the hairy man with a disdainful expression.

The man on the floor reached out for his sword, which the man who had backhanded him quickly kicked away. He reached down and lifted him up by his tunic, glaring at him. The poor man struggled against his grasp, his feet kicking the air furiously.

The leader walked up to him and looked him in the eye. Fear showed on the hairy man's face instantly. Shyvana grinned, seeing how pathetic he looked.

"My name is Zahrul," the leader, Zahrul clapped his enormous brother on the shoulder, grinning like a sadist. "This one here is Gahara. You will leave the old man and his daughter alone, and walk out of the inn with that sword of yours, or I'll have Gahara hunt you down and punch the shit out of you. You best remember that,"

His sadistic smile sent shivers down Shyvana's spine. She rushed over to her father, who grunted and rubbed his jaw with his hand. They watched as the man nodded fearfully before Gahara threw him to the ground. He scrambled to the ground like a scared cat, quickly picked up his sword and ran out of the inn without looking back.

"That was close," Shyvana's father grunted, coughing several times. Shyvana rubbed his back with affection. He looked up at Zahrul warily, who was approaching them with a dagger still in his hand.

"Thank you again," Shyvana nodded. Her father looked at her with disbelief, his hand gripping her arm possessively. "I'm not sure what could have happened if it weren't for you,"

"You know each other?" her father asked, looking from Zahrul to Shyvana.

"He was the one who gave me enough gold coins to pay for food and shelter," she said. "He is a good man, father,"

"You don't know what good is!" he hissed with a low whisper, making sure that the triplets couldn't hear him. Zahrul looked at them both with an amused expression, before sheathing his dagger.

"I never asked for your name," he said. He offered his hand again.

"Shyvana," she answered before her father could protest, and shook his hand firmly. "I don't know how to repay you for all that you've done,"

"You don't have to. Any good man would help a lady in distress," Zahrul said. Kaj sniggered and scratched his ear ignorantly. If Zahrul noticed the old dragon's dislike for him, he paid no attention to it. "You both must be great hunters, capable of taking down the Golem and the Brambleback. I'm impressed,"

Shyvana was about to open her mouth to answer, when her father interrupted rudely. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, thank you for your help. This old man needs his rest. Now, kind young men, if you will excuse us," he didn't wait for Zahrul's response before dragging Shyvana by the arm, snatching the key from the table and walking towards their room.

Shyvana yelped furiously and yanked her arm away when they were at the door. "Father! That was rude!"

"Rude?" he said incredulously. "I was trying to protect you, God knows what he wants," he fumbled with the key to unlock the door.

"Protect me? He just fought that asshole who hurt you and made threats of wanting to rape me. It's not like you did anything when he pinned you against the table! _And you were_ _ungrateful as well!_"

The old dragon kicked the door open angrily before glaring at his daughter. She could see that his eyes were filled with hurt, even though his lips were pursed in a thin line. "I was reaching for my dagger, I could have disarmed him as well," he flipped his cloak, revealing a dagger strapped to his thigh.

Shyvana crossed her arms across her chest, frowning.

"I can't risk anyone catching a glimpse of your face, even if they are good men," he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

Shyvana refused to meet her father's gaze, arms still crossed and she stared at a wall.

"Rumours travel far, and who knows if one of the dragon-kin is nearby? You think they are good men, maybe that's because they don't know who you are," he added, and noted a shift in his daughter's pose. She looked at him guiltily, her head lowered with shame.

"I only wanted a friend," she confessed, her voice cracking.

"And you will have one, believe me," he placed both hands on her shoulders. "I just want you to make sure that you're not fooled. You had me worried when you were out there for so long,"

"I'm sorry, father," she said sheepishly.

He nodded and ruffled her hair affectionately, accepting her apology. He placed a hand on her back and urged her inside. The room was small and the shutters had been barred, leaving the room in darkness. It rattled with force, signalling the coming of the sandstorm. In the corner of the room was a large featherbed fit for two, beside it a small table.

"Father?" Shyvana spoke with a small voice. Her father smiled before taking off his hood and cloak, revealing his golden skin.

"We haven't eaten anything," she said. His stomach rumbled as though agreeing with her, and he slammed a palm on his forehead.

"Well, shit,"

* * *

Night came quickly and Bel'Zhun plunged into darkness, its temperature plummeting until it was chilly and freezing. The sandstorm, however, was still raging, the howls of the wind audible in the small settlement.

In the room, the old dragon found it hard to fall asleep. His daughter snored quietly beside him, her arms and legs curled as her back was pressed into his embrace. He adjusted the coverlets so that it covered her completely, an arm draped across her small frame.

He couldn't help but think about the events that happened earlier that day. What if that man had plunged his sword into his throat and killed him there and then?

He had no doubt that Shyvana would attack the man before he could touch her. He had no doubt that she would transform into a dragon and fly away as far as possible. It was what happened after that worried him. She would be lost and wandering around aimlessly, not know where to go or who to look for guidance. She would grieve for him, just as she grieved for the loss of her mother's love for her.

The old dragon shuddered in fear as he imagined the consequences if the dragons found her. They wouldn't just kill her, they would torture her out of sheer fun.

His train of thoughts was interrupted when he heard a small creak. A normal human couldn't have heard the noise, but he was a dragon. His body became rigid and his arms around Shyvana tightened. She groaned and tossed in her sleep, looking for a more comfortable position.

In the dark, the door was opened slightly. He could clearly see a dark silhouette moving from the door, his build suggesting that he was obviously a man. When he saw his height he gasped. He was as tall as that man who had attacked him and threatened to rape Shyvana.

The old dragon reached to his thigh and drew his dagger, ready to attack should the man come any closer. The shadow stopped moving when he reached the bed, looking down at the old dragon and his daughter. He waited.

The intruder suddenly lifted a hand, and the old dragon acted instinctively. He pushed Shyvana off the bed as the hand descended, a blade stabbing the featherbed where Shyvana had been earlier.

"Father?" Shyvana called out groggily, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Shyvana!" he shouted as loud as he could, relieved when Shyvana stood to full attention. "Get clear!"

What he failed to notice was the intruder had turned towards him, pulling his knife out of the featherbed. Before the old dragon could throw the man off the bed, he thrust his knife with alarming speed.

Shyvana watched in horror as the blade sank into flesh, her father howling in pain.

* * *

**Honestly, I didn't expect it to be this long. Let me know if you prefer lengthy chapters or shorter ones. Please leave a review! It motivates me greatly. :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Brother

**Chapter 4: Brother**

She had been sleeping peacefully that night, but she couldn't remember what she dreamt of. All she remembered was there was darkness, and she was drifting and floating, free of worries and sadness in her mind...

And suddenly she felt someone pushing her roughly. And she was falling, until she felt her cheek hit something hard.

She opened her eyes and was met with darkness and the cool touch of the wooden floorboards. She remembered getting up and rubbing her eyes sleepily. She looked to the bed and saw a blur of silhouettes, wondering how could she have fallen out of the bed.

"Shyvana!" her father shouted, and she jolted awake. Her eyes widened and she could see more than just darkness, her dragon senses awakening. "Get clear!" her father yelled again, and Shyvana scrambled to her feet.

She caught the glimpse of a man thrusting a blade towards her father. She heard her father roar painfully. And the next thing she knew was her dragon instincts had taken over.

Shyvana pounced onto the assailant with blinding speed and tackled him to the ground. She was on top of him as his back hit the floor hard, satisfied when she heard him hissing in pain. The man struggled, trying to throw Shyvana off him. She pinned his wrists above his head, and bared her fangs savagely at him.

She was so close to him that she could see the mask and scarf that the man wore. He was dressed in a long robe and a cowl covered his head. She tried to knee him in the gut, only to be met with something hard beneath the robe. _Armor,_ Shyvana realized. _He's wearing an armor._

The assailant noticed that she was distracted and took this as an advantage. He wrenched his hands free, and threw a punch across her face. Shyvana fell to the side, groaning with pain. She tried to get up to tackle him again, but he was already on his feet.

The man reached into his robes and held a flint. Shyvana rushed out to grab him, not before he ran the head of the flint across the rough surface of the wooden floor.

A bright red spark flared, blinding both Shyvana and her father. Shyvana staggered and raised her hands to shield her eyes, while she heard her father grunting in pain and frustration.

The flint was thrown to the floor, its sparks still sizzling and illuminating the dark room. When Shyvana could see properly again, she saw the assailant standing there unmoving, giving Shyvana a hard stare. It looked as though he was shocked, or as if he had seen a ghost.

Shyvana looked down, and she understood why.

She wasn't wearing her cloak and hood, but a sleeveless tunic and a pair of breeches. The flint's sparks had brightened the room to the point where her blue-grey skin and her golden eyes were visible. Her pupils narrowed to reptilian slits as she gave a feral growl, like a lion ready to tear its prey to pieces. She grinned when the assailant took a step back in fear.

There was a loud growl and it wasn't coming from Shyvana. The assailant whipped his head towards the bed, and managed to duck narrowly before a bloody knife flew past his head and embedded itself into the wall behind him.

Shyvana was stunned when her father rushed towards the man and grabbed him by the neck. She saw that his shoulder was bleeding heavily, but the angry glare in his eyes proved that he was unfazed by his deep wound. He threw the man against the wall, baring his fangs at his victim.

"_You dare return to harm my daughter,_" her father growled. His voice wasn't like usual - not gentle and caring, but cold-blooded and enraged. It made her shiver in fear. "_If you dare touch her, I'll rip your fucking guts out and make you eat them,_"

Her father was about to reach out to tear his mask away when the assailant whipped out a small round object. He threw it to the floor as hard as he could, and the object exploded with a bright flash.

The old dragon hissed and shut his eyes immediately. He removed his hand from the assailant and was given a rough push.

"Shyvana!" her father called out. His arms flailed wildly around him, looking for his daughter.

"I'm fine!" Shyvana answered, and he felt relief washing over him. They heard the sound of the shutters being ripped open, and the howling of the wind sounded stronger. The air suddenly became a lot dustier and thicker, the old dragon and his daughter coughing violently.

The sandstorm was still strong. The assailant must have escaped through the shutters. His mask and scarf provided protection against the sandstorm, allowing him to trudge through the storm without fear.

The old dragon opened his eyes slightly, still seeing dark spots in his vision. He grabbed for his cloak and quickly wrapped it around himself and covered his nose and mouth with a scarf. Shyvana did the same. He grimaced.

"He saw us, father,"

He nodded. "We have to go after him, make sure he doesn't speak,"

Without hesitation, the old dragon climbed the window and hopped out into the streets, where the sandstorm was still raging. Shyvana followed, her cloak and hood whipped around by the strong winds.

The sandstorm made it hard to see, but from the corner of their vision they saw a figure running into an alley. The man was smart. Alleyways between buildings provide temporary shelter from the sandstorm, making it easier to maneuver. They ran as fast as they could, going after the assailant.

_Make sure he doesn't speak, _Shyvana pondered her father's words. _Does that mean we have to kill him? _Shyvana shuddered. She may have helped her father slay thousands of monsters and strange creatures, but she doubted she could hurt a human, let alone kill him. She pushed the thought away, and followed her father as they moved into the alley.

They were surprised to see the assailant standing there, his back to a wall. He grunted, irritated with his current plight, and turned back to face them both with dignity. He drew another dagger from his robe.

The old dragon pulled back his hood. This man had seen them, and there was no need to hide anymore.

"You should have listened to Zahrul's warning," the old dragon stated. "You know what we are, and I can't let you leave spreading a word,"

The man stood unflinching beneath his gaze.

"I will have to rip your tongue out," the old dragon clenched his fists. Fire wrapped around his hands, like a glove. He took two steps and dashed forward, his hand reaching for the man before him.

The assailant thrust his dagger forward, aiming for the old dragon's eye. He dodged it perfectly and threw a jab at him. The man withdrew and narrowly avoided his jab, flames dancing dangerously across his mask. The old dragon continued throwing punches, his flames burning stronger and brighter each time. The assailant evaded all of them gracefully, looking for an opening to attack. However, the old dragon could see that the man was tiring, and he was gaining the upper hand.

The man stepped backwards and pressed his back against the wall, dodging to the side when the old dragon aimed for his face. Desperately, he swung his dagger upwards to put some distance between them, and was surprised when the old dragon stopped the swing by grabbing the blade tightly, his flames swirling around his fist.

The blade of the dagger glowed until it was red-hot, and the old dragon simply bent the dagger, rending it useless. He could tell that the assailant was surprised, and he swiftly ripped the dagger out of his hand before throwing it aside. He reached out for his mask, tearing it away.

The old dragon's eyes widened with shock.

Beneath the mask was not the face of the man who had attacked him in the inn.

"You were careless," Zahrul grinned sadistically. The old dragon was suddenly too stunned to move.

"_Father!_" Shyvana screamed. The old dragon flipped backwards, just as a large sword swung in a wide arc below him. The sword swung upwards again, forcing the old dragon to roll to the side as it nearly cleaved him into two. He moved into a defensive stance, his fists still coated in flames, facing the giant before him.

Gahara grunted and held his greatsword before him, waiting for his attack. The old dragon's eyes widened when he saw that Gahara only held his sword with one hand. The largest brother flexed his shoulder muscles menacingly, his greatsword held in front of him as though it weighed nothing.

"See, Gahara?" Zahrul said, twirling a dagger in his hand. "I told you these two aren't human,"

Gahara snorted.

"Golden skin with scales. And the ability to summon fire at will," Zahrul grinned. "Only Celestial dragons have the ability to transform into a human. Such a rare species. Your daughter though..." he frowned and looked hard at Shyvana.

"A half-breed," he snapped his fingers in realization. "An impure halfling. An abomination, that explains why your father is so cautious and paranoid about strangers,"

"Mind your words," the old dragon snapped. "I may be old, but I can still tear you to pieces like paper. How long have you been following us?"

"Following you?" Zahrul said incredulously. "Your daughter and I met only today. She mentioned to the blacksmith that you, her father, slew the Golem and the Brambleback. Do you think I could not recognize the wraith crystals when I see one, child?" he turned to Shyvana, who returned his stare with a hateful glare.

"If someone could capture a wraith, it proves that the hunter is either extremely fast, or he's not human. I had my suspicions when you can't react quick enough when that hairy bastard pinned you to the table, it makes me doubt your abilities as a _human_,"

"Who knows? Maybe I was skillful at catching wraiths after all," the old dragon said sarcastically. "You mentioned earlier that you knew we weren't human, is that why you tried to assassinate my daughter? A bounty hunter like you would love stacking trophies that came from all kinds of beings,"

"When I tried to stab your daughter, that may be true. But that was before I knew she is a half-dragon," he laughed cruelly. "However, haven't you heard the rumors?"

The old dragon's frown deepened.

"I suppose that you have not," Zahrul's sadistic grin was replaced with solemnity. "There had been tales of a dragon terrorizing small towns and villages, burning everything in its path when the people fail to hand over the '_half-dragon_,"

"Why would the dragon-kin want me?" Shyvana asked, her voice trembling with fear.

"To be executed," Zahrul answered curtly. "Your blood is impure, an abomination. The dragons pride themselves as the greatest race of Valoran. Your existence wounds their pride, hence they want you dead, even if it means killing thousands to get to you. Everywhere you go, death follows,"

Zahrul walked towards the old dragon fearlessly, ignoring the bright flames that were now surrounding the old dragon's hands. "How lucky I am to stumble upon you two, a Celestial dragon and a half-dragon," he chuckled. "Well, maybe not so fortunate for the people here. Soon the dragon will come here and threaten to burn Bel'Zhun to ashes. He will kill everything that is in its way, unless I give him your daughter's head,"

The old dragon glared at Zahrul, daring him to make a move.

"Consider this a trade," Zahrul whispered. "You hand over your daughter to me to save the people of this miserable place, while I will pretend that you never existed. I will not tell the dragon that I saw you, you will be free to go anywhere you want, without the dragon-kin to hunt you down," he put on his trademark sadistic grin again. "So, your decision?"

Shyvana looked at her father. Part of her pleaded her father to say no, the other part telling her that he should accept the trade. Zahrul had a point - her existence had caused the suffering and death of thousands of innocents. If possible, she did not want the same to happen to Bel'Zhun. And she certainly did not want to be a burden to her father as well.

She watched as her father thought long and hard, before he sighed and unclenched his fists, his flames disappearing. Shyvana closed her eyes and held back her tears, knowing that her father had finally made his choice.

"I've decided," the old dragon said wearily. Zahrul grinned wickedly. The old dragon then drew back his fist and punched Zahrul right in the face, breaking his nose and wiping the smug grin off his face. The impact caused him to stagger backwards, barely able to recover his fall.

Shyvana's jaw dropped.

"_You old fucker!_" Zahrul wiped away the blood from his nose, snarling furiously at the old dragon. He drew his twin daggers and dashed forward, which Gahara raised his sword aloft and followed his brother.

The old dragon called forth his draconic strength, his eyes burning with fury like molten gold. He conjured his flames and threw two fireballs forward, which the brothers dodged and blocked with skill. The old dragon fought them both at the same time, roaring like the dragon he was, exchanging blows and dodging attacks from both brothers like a feral beast.

Shyvana rushed forward to aid her father when she suddenly heard the thrumming of a crossbow. The hair on her neck stood upright in fear.

She only managed to avoid the bolt whistling past her ear, grazing her cheek. She whirled back and had to dodge again when Kaj loosed another bolt, who quickly reloaded with incredible speed. Shyvana yelled a battle cry and summoned her flames which swirled around her like a twister, increasing her speed as she ran towards Kaj.

Kaj aimed his crossbow precisely and fired two rapid bolts. Shyvana ducked, still sprinting towards him with increasing speed. The howls and wails of the sandstorm were now deaf to her, as she could only hear the sound of her roaring flames. She could feel her blood boil with rage, and her dragon instincts implored her to kill.

The feeling was so foreign to her that she was almost afraid of it.

Kaj stared at her fearfully as she leapt and pounced onto him. His crossbow tumbled out of his hands as they fell to the floor with Shyvana on top of him. She bared her fangs and growled angrily, her flames burning his leather vest.

Before she could land the first punch, Kaj groped for his crossbow and slammed the butt across her cheek. Shyvana grunted and fell off him, which he quickly reloaded his crossbow and aimed it at her.

Shyvana hopped to her feet and grabbed the crossbow with both hands just as he pulled the trigger. The bolt flew past her, nearly impaling her through her brain. They both tugged on the cross bow savagely, both struggling to rip the weapon from each other's hands. Shyvana pulled onto the crossbow as hard as she could, slamming Kaj against the wall.

She panicked when she saw his finger at the trigger. There was another bolt left in the crossbow, and it was aimed at her.

Shyvana acted on impulse and grabbed for his hood, tearing it away. Using all her strength, she shoved Kaj out onto the streets where the sandstorm blew with rage. Kaj lost his balance and landed on his rump, screaming and crying frantically when sands and dusts instantly got into his eyes, mouth and nose. He shut his eyes and clawed for his nonexistent hood, waving his crossbow around frantically.

"Kaj!" Zahrul dodged the old dragon's attack before pulling up his hood. He rushed towards the street to aid his brother who was still blinded by the sands, until the sound of flapping wings stopped him.

The fighting ceased as the sound grew louder and louder, and stranger things happened. The winds were still blowing, but earlier where the air was thick with sand was now as clear as the sky. Kaj had stopped screaming and now sat on his rear, his eyes still shut as he rubbed them painfully. The old dragon could feel his heart sinking and even Gahara looked astonished. When Shyvana threw a glance at Zahrul, she was surprised to see the fearful expression plastered on his face.

"Zahrul?" Kaj called out, turning his head around looking for his brother. "What happened?"

His question was answered with a jet of flames that swallowed him and poured along the street of Bel'Zhun. Zahrul's cries were drowned by the roar of the flames, as he watched his brother scorched to cinders. They could hear Kaj's screams within the sea of fire, until the flames were reduced to mere embers.

On the ground was a charred corpse, still wielding a blackened crossbow.

"_Puny creatures__,_" a deep voice reverberated through the streets. The coldness of it made them all tremble with fear. The ground shook slightly and a loud thump was heard as though a lumbering beast was parading the street. "_I smell blood though. Dragon blood,_"

Shyvana looked at her father and gasped. The front of his cloak was soaked with blood, and he looked pale and weak. He clutched at his shoulder wound and nodded at Shyvana, assuring her that he was fine.

"_Brother,_" the voice was filled with reverence. "_Are you here?_"

The four of them crept towards the nearest wall, pressing their backs against it. They tried to still their heavy breathing, hoping that it wouldn't hear them.

"_I have come to bring you home,_" its voice dripped with sadness. "_I have come to help you make amends, help you correct the mistakes you had done,_"

The old dragon closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, his heart hammering hard against his chest. Shyvana's hand reached out for his and squeezed his tightly.

"_Brother,_" this time the voice was louder, and the footsteps as well. A large shadow loomed over the black corpse that was once Kaj, telling them that it was near. "_Are you hurt?_"

The old dragon's eyes met Zahrul's. Zahrul looked grim, having just lost a brother. _Hide,_ he mouthed, and Zahrul nodded.

"_It has been so many years,_" Zahrul and Gahara crept deeper into the alley. It was darker in there, and it would provide a better cover. "_Do you not miss your home? Your brothers and sisters?_"

They were about to make it, until Zahrul's dagger slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a loud, resonating _clang_!

"Shit!" Zahrul exclaimed, and that was the last thing he said before a torrent of flames engulfed him and Gahara. The temperature skyrocketed instantly. Zahrul screamed, horrified when he saw his hands melting, turning from brown to red to black. Gahara's armor glowed white-hot, melting and fusing with his seared flesh.

Despite the heat surrounding her, Shyvana felt no pain. She looked up, only to realize that her father was now shielding her in his dragon form. His tough, leathery hide and dragon scales were highly heat-resistant even to dragonfire. She stared ahead and was met with Zahrul's remorseful glare, before his eyes boiled and melted into a fluid that ran down his scorching cheeks.

_Everywhere you go, death follows. _

When the flames died, the old dragon grabbed his daughter with his talons and propelled himself into the air. He flew as fast as he could, only stealing a glance at the dragon behind them. It was black as night, its scales shimmering like sin. It must have seen them, as it spread its wings and took off the ground.

"Where are we going?" Shyvana yelled as loud as she could, hoping that her father could hear her. Her father headed skywards until Bel'Zhun was only as large as her thumb, with the black dragon a tiny blotch heading towards them.

"_We__'__re going north!" _in dragon form, his voice was loud and booming."_We have to leave Shurima!_"

Shyvana nodded in agreement, until she suddenly remembered the gauntlets the blacksmith had given her. They were still in their room back in the inn, and she felt her heart sink. Those were valuable to her, and she could not lose them.

"Father! I have to go back!" she struggled against her father's grasp, his grip only tightened in protest. "I left something important there! I have to retrieve it!"

"_The hell you are!_"

"Father, please! I can hide from him!" she pleaded.

Her father growled at her. His wings pumped harder and fought against the wind current. "_Go back in your dragon form! I__'__ll meet you in the forest at the foot of Mount Targon!_ _I__'__ll lead him out of Bel'Zhun!_" he released his grip on her.

Shyvana mustered her rage as she felt power surge through her veins, boiling her blood. She glided through the wind as her arms turned into huge leathery wings, letting the current bring her back to the heart of Bel'Zhun. As she floated through the air she could see a huge dark shape looming before her. She quickly retracted her wings, diving towards the ground.

She was at the roof of the inn in her human form when she caught sight of the black dragon amidst the clouds, flying towards her father. She noticed that her father was deliberately flying slowly, allowing the dragon to see his trail easily so that it would follow him and be as far away from Bel'Zhun as possible. Quickly and quietly, Shyvana began climbing down the roof to the room where the shutters were wide open.

As she retrieved the gauntlets, flashes of the events that happened earlier haunted her mind. The image of Kaj's charred body clutching his crossbow seared into her mind like a permanent brand, and she could still hear the screams and wails of Zahrul and Gahara as they were engulfed in dragonfire. She shuddered when she remembered Zahrul's glare before he died.

She couldn't help but blame herself. They died because of her.

_Everywhere you go, death follows._

* * *

_Great__, _the old dragon lamented. He was in his human form, hiding behind a tree and panting heavily. _I __shouldn't __have __let __her __go__. _He could hear heavy footsteps not far away, stomping the ground and toppling trees and bushes alike out of his way.

Right now, he had no choice but to buy time until Shyvana appears. He thought of his plan again and again, fear overwhelming him at the thought of confronting his brethren. But if he did not do it, the dragon would fly back to Bel'Zhun and terrorize the town, worse yet if he stumbled upon Shyvana along the way.

The black dragon was calling for him again. It was near, he could tell. _Here goes nothing, _he thought as he stepped away from the tree.

"I'm here," the old dragon called out. He watched as the black dragon came to a halt, its long snout creeping towards him and sniffing him. He looked impressive - his wings were dark as night, his onyx scales caught the moonlight and shimmered like black diamonds, his eyes that were once malicious slits now widened at the sight of his brethren. His body, however, was gaunt and thin, unlike normal dragons which were bulkier and much larger. Compared to a normal dragon, this one was much smaller.

_A drake,_ the old dragon realized. _Smaller and weaker than normal dragons, but faster and more cunning. _

"_Brother__,_" the drake's baritone voice rumbled. "_I_ _have __come __to __bring __you __home__,_"

"What home?" he hissed. The drake was oblivious to the hint of contempt in his words.

"_Home, the place where you and I belong. Our race is now dwindling in numbers, not to mention Celestial dragons such as yourself,_"

"I have strayed from home," the old dragon said sadly. "I am an outcast dragon. Now I have no home, nor brothers and sisters. The dragonkind will live on without me, my presence scarcely makes a difference,"

"_The dragons regard all of their own as family, as brothers and sisters. You will always have a home. Come with me,_"

"Come with you?" the old dragon laughed half-heartedly. "The other Celestial dragons have looked upon me with disgust. Do you think I do not know your true purpose? That you wish to bring me back to be executed for loving a human?"

"_That is your biggest mistake,_" the drake said coldly. "_The other Celestial dragons want your head, and they have sent me out to collect it. But I swear to you. Follow me back to the dragonkind and I can persuade the Celestial dragons to show you mercy and give you another chance. You will earn your place as one of the revered dragons of Runeterra, just like before,_"

He was quiet. The drake continued.

"_As long as you give me that half-dragon, that abomination,_" his voice switched to distaste. "_I will bring her to the dragonkind to be purged, as a proof of your unwavering loyalty to us. Our bloodlines will be pure once again,_"

The old dragon's eye twitched with fury. "No," he snarled.

"_No?_"

"I will not give away my child only to be slaughtered like a pig. She has the right to live, and I will not let you deny her of that. You can tell the other Celestial dragons to _go_ _fuck themselves_,"

"_Your child?!_" the drake roared with anger and disbelief. "_That half-breed is a disgrace to us all! She is never and will never be your child!_"

"Don't you dare call her that!" he was yelling now, all fears of the drake forgotten and replaced by fury.

"_I give you a choice - your brothers and sisters, or that abomination. A chance to serve the dragonkind with glory again, or a chance to meet a traitor's end,_"

He did not hesitate to answer. "Then I have no brothers and sisters, only my daughter,"

He thought he saw a glint of sadness in the drake's eyes, but it quickly disappeared to be replaced by pure hatred and disgust. "_You leave me no choice,_" The drake rushed forward on all fours, jaw gaping with vicious fangs. The old dragon transformed into a dragon and brought his claws forward, snarling as his claws collided with the drake's jaw.

The drake roared and let off a burst of flames, aiming for his weak belly. The old dragon reacted quickly, dashing out of the way and brought his claws down upon the drake's spine, attempting to snap it into half.

The drake seemed to have noticed and swung his tail in a wide arc, its spiked tip slamming the old dragon's head. He wailed in pain as he fell to the ground, trying desperately to claw his way back to his feet. The drake quickly locked its jaw around the old dragon's hind leg and bit hard, crippling the old dragon.

"_You are too slow,_" the drake spat, ripping its maw from his crippled foot. "_Too old. Perhaps the Celestial dragons were right, you should be put down for good,_" it lashed out a claw, aiming for his weak and soft flesh around the chest.

The old dragon closed his eyes, ready to face his end. _Shyvana, my pride and joy. You must remain strong. _

He waited for the blow to come, but instead of pain he heard a loud ringing of metal. He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the sight of Shyvana in her human form, wearing a pair of rusty gauntlets that were too large for her. She held the gauntlets in front of her, blocking the drake's fatal blow.

Shyvana grunted, mustering her strength to push against the drake. But it was too strong for her, and she was losing her footing.

The old dragon quickly aided her as he hopped into the air, wincing as the wound on his leg throbbed in pain. The drake was still shocked by the sudden appearance of the half-dragon, and narrowly dodged a jet of white-hot flames that came from the Celestial dragon.

"_There you are, half-dragon,_" the drake chuckled.

Shyvana lashed out with her gauntlet-covered hands, attempting to rake the drake's snout and neck. But she was too slow, the gauntlets were far too heavy for her. Sweat were beading on her forehead, and she was getting exhausted. The old dragon knew he must act quickly, or his daughter will give out soon.

The drake seemed to have its full attention on Shyvana now, dodging and blocking every blow she made. He laughed gleefully, watching in content as Shyvana got slower and slower, panting heavily each time she lifted the gauntlet for another attack. Soon the drake went from defense to offense, striking aggressively and looking for an opening. Shyvana was finding it difficult to evade and block each coming attack, and the more she blocked the sloppier her movements became.

A tail swung at her, and Shyvana couldn't lift her gauntlets in time. It struck her in the side, sending her tumbling across the forest grounds. She grunted and tried to stand, but she was exhausted and her arms were already trembling violently.

The drake was heading her way. He held a smug and cruel grin, his gleaming fangs ready to finish her off. Until a huge, uprooted oak tree went flying towards him, knocking him into the side and sending him sprawling on the forest floors. The drake tried to lift the tree off him, but it was far too heavy. He roared in frustration.

It would take days, if not weeks, for the drake to remove that tree from himself.

"_You will pay for this!_" the drake roared, swearing vengeance.

The old dragon simply strode limply towards his daughter, blood still seeping from the wounds on his shoulder and hind leg. Shyvana laid on her belly, too tired to move. Her eyes were closed as she breathed heavily. Bruises and scabs were all over her body. The old dragon lowered his head and gently lifted his daughter by the collar of her cloak with his fangs, careful not to hurt her with his sharp fangs. He placed her onto his back, his heart clenched with guilt as Shyvana laid unconsciously onto his back, her gauntlets hung snugly from her hands.

He propelled himself skywards, ignoring his excruciating wounds and pumped his wings harder and faster. The drake was still hurling threats and insults at them both, but they were deaf to his ears. All he cared now was to get Shyvana to safety, and they would have to hide deep in the Great Barrier where their resources would be easily replenished.

With Shyvana on his back, the old dragon flew past Mount Targon and looked for a safe place along the Great Barrier to land. He doubted that his future days would be easy, knowing that the drake would keep pursuing them until they were dead.

_They will never have her, _he vowed hatefully. _She's the only thing I have. I will kill each and every one of them who dares approach her. I swear I will._

* * *

**Well? Tell me how it is. Reviews are very much appreciated. :)**


	5. Chapter 5: No Mercy

**Chapter 5: No Mercy**

It has been years since their first encounter with the drake back in Shurima, and since then they were more paranoid than ever. They couldn't walk through the forest without throwing a glance over their shoulders or hide somewhere to make sure the land was clear before passing it. After all, they were right to be wary. Recklessness would easily cost them their lives.

Of course, there were multiple times when the drake had caught up on them, and they would have no choice but to fight for their lives. Her father was getting older and weaker, and she was still inexperienced in so many aspects, forcing them to choose brains over brawn when engaged in battle. But from every battle they had managed to survive, Shyvana grew stronger and more capable of harnessing her strength. Nevertheless, her fury and hatred burnt brighter as well.

She would never forget how the triplets had deceived her, too. She had believed that they were good men, friendly even, but she was too naive to think otherwise. Since then, she learnt to never trust anyone again, especially humans.

Still, she couldn't get rid of the guilt she felt when the triplets had died, burnt alive by the drake. Zahrul's words still haunted her mind until this day, and because of that she pledged to never step into any places where humans took up residence. It took a lot to convince her father, and eventually her father gave in to her wishes.

Since then, Shyvana and her father were doomed to move from one place to another, setting up camp and hunting for food. And when the drake appeared, they would have to fight to stay alive.

_Everywhere you go, death follows. _

She had no idea how much longer she can endure the endless battles. She felt as though she might go insane sooner or later.

* * *

"_What?_"

"We're going to Ionia," the old dragon announced that morning. "By ship, we have to head east to the edge of the Great Barrier and book a passage to Ionia,"

"Why?" Shyvana asked angrily, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.

"You can seek refuge there," he ran a knife down the tip of a branch, shaping it into a spear. "It's a nation of peace and order, isolated from the Valoran mainland. I can persuade the Elders that we come in peace, and you will be much safer there,"

"There's nowhere safe, not unless that drake is dead,"

"The Ionians are adept in spiritual arts, they will have ways to mask your presence in Ionia,"

Shyvana paced back and forth in front of her father, her face crumpled in deep concentration. "No," she hissed.

"I thought you always wanted a home, Shyvana," he looked up from his work and narrowed his eyes, staring at his daughter skeptically.

"It's no use," she laughed bitterly. "The Elders, or whoever the hell they are, may accept us. But you never know when they are going to exile us either. _You _told me to never trust humans. We are dragons, father. They will only fear us and seek to get rid of us,"

"We don't have a choice," he stood abruptly, tossing his knife to the ground. "It's either Ionia, or wandering aimlessly in Valoran. And it's not like I can walk like before," he gestured at his crippled leg. "Please understand, Shyvana. We can't escape him forever, we may not be lucky enough to escape from him next time,"

"All these while we have been running away every time he attacks," she retorted. "Why can't we just kill that bastard already?"

"We won't stand a chance!"

"That's because we're holding back!"

"Shyvana," he pleaded. "I beg you, go to Ionia. You will find peace there,"

"Peace doesn't exist. If it does, we wouldn't be here!" she was screaming now, pacing back and forth. She was oblivious to little motes of flame dancing beneath her feet, singeing the grass she stepped on.

_Do you think I did not notice how hateful you have become? _He looked at her sadly, knowing that he had failed at raising his daughter the correct way. He had wanted to teach her that despite their predicament, there was still hope and love in the world. But the endless battles with the drake only poisoned her heart even further, tainting it with hate, malice and misery.

Ionia was the only way. She would learn to find peace there, learn to calm herself and channel her powers at the right moment. Perhaps she would even make friends there, knowing that Ionia is also a home for Celestial and otherworldly beings, even though he had never heard of Ionians making peace with a dragon or other wild beasts before.

"And so what if they could mask our presence?" her eyes burned dangerously, flames coating her fingers. "That drake isn't _stupid_, he'll find the trail that leads him to Ionia-"

"I didn't say I was going to Ionia," he said quietly, only loud enough for her to hear. "You are,"

Shyvana's arms fell limply to her sides. Her mouth hung open, but no words came out. Her outburst earlier was replaced by an astonished silence, as though she was trying to comprehend what her father just said.

"You said I could seek refuge there…"

"Yes," he sighed, knowing that she would react violently to his decision. "I'm bringing you to Ionia, but I'm leaving you there. I will lead the drake away from you. You will be safe there, training with the people of Ionia and learning their ways. You never know, they might accept you as one of their best fighters in Ionia,"

"You can't -"

"I can, and I will," he said sternly, brooking no argument. "I am getting old, Shyvana. I won't be around forever,"

"Still, it doesn't mean I should leave you," her lips quivered, but she refused to let her tears fall. She could feel her throat burning with anger and she clenched her fists harder. "He won't just kill you, he will make you suffer!"

The old dragon gritted his teeth. It's not like he wanted to leave her in a place where she was not familiar with. It pained him to see his daughter isolated and distraught, first being left by her mother, and now him. But if it was for her own good, he would do it even if it made him feel guilty.

_Damn it, love, _he cursed at his beloved, wondering if she could hear him. _So this is how you felt when you did it? Like you are trapped in between?_

He quickly pulled Shyvana into a tight embrace, caressing her hair gently, showing her that he still loved her. "He won't torture me, don't worry. I promise. I'll attract him to somewhere far away where he won't find you. And who knows? Maybe a few years later, you would be much stronger than you are right now. Maybe you will come looking for me, and we can defeat him together,"

Shyvana's shoulders stopped trembling for a moment. He felt a glimmer of hope, thinking that he had finally made her see sense, but it was quickly put out when Shyvana shoved roughly, pulling away from him.

On her face was a mask of fury and anguish and hurt, her unshed tears threatening to break free.

"_Lies,_" she hissed. "You're just going to leave me like mother did, aren't you? I understand, after all I'm just a burden to you. Hell, you should have given me to those three assholes we met in Bel'Zhun back then,"

His heart sank when she said those words, but he said nothing to correct her.

"Maybe I was the mistake all along," her voice was melancholic, though it still held anger and hatred. "Maybe I shouldn't be born at all. All that I've ever done was bring more suffering to those around me,"

She turned her back on him and started walking through the forest, away from her father who still stood rooted to the ground, taking in what his daughter just said.

"Wait, Shyvana -"

"_Don__'__t worry,_" she grumbled. "I'm just going to check out the snares for game. Then we can go to Ionia since that's what you want so much," With that, she went deeper into the forest. The camp was filled with silence once again.

"I'm sorry, Shyvana," he whispered under his breath, staring deep into the forest with a forlorn gaze.

* * *

When she went to the third snare she had carefully placed in the forest only to find the bait missing again, she angrily snapped the snare into half. She looked up at the skies and cursed at whatever Gods that were watching, frustrated with her ill-fate.

She had been so furious that when she stomped through the forest, she did not know she was leaving a trail of scorched grass behind. Her grunts and mumbles every time she found a snare empty had scared away all the animals nearby, which only annoyed her even more.

She couldn't believe her father was doing this to her. She thought that he would be different, unlike her mother.

_I hate you, mother, _she fumed, and went searching for the fourth snare. _It__'__s all your fault that we ended up like this. And now father wants to leave me too. Great. Parenting done right. _

The fourth snare turned up empty as well, and by then Shyvana was so enraged that she threw her head back and let out an ear-splitting roar, not caring if the entire forest heard her. Leaves and bushes around her rustled noisily as small animals quickly scurried away, afraid of facing the wrath of the dragon.

"For fuck's sake!" she screamed and slammed her fist into a nearby tree, leaving a blackened cavity in the poor tree. She stormed towards a nearby stream, not even bothering to look for the fifth snare. She did not intend to starve tonight, and to do that, she would have to fish.

In her hand was a charred wooden spear she had crafted out of a branch. It was a shoddy job done using her claws, but it was better than nothing. She waded awkwardly in the stream searching for a school of fish, and positioned her spear above her shoulder. She watched as the fish darted in and out, unaware of its predator nearby.

_You were being harsh to him, _a voice in her head whispered. Shyvana lashed out the spear and grunted when it missed. _He was right. He was doing this for your own good. _

"I never want to be near a human again. Never again," she jabbed, grinning with triumph when it hit a fish.

_What is it that you fear? Betrayal? Deceit?_

"Shut up," Jab. Missed.

_Or isolation? _

"He'll never defeat the drake. There had been several times when he nearly _died_," she jabbed again, stabbing another fish. "I can't stay somewhere safe knowing he's out there fighting my battle,"

_Your battle? How so?_

"That drake wants me dead. That makes it my battle,"

_You lash out blindly. You'll never stand a chance against the drake. You will die fighting him. So will your father._

"You don't know that!" she furiously ran the spear into the bed of the stream. All the fish immediately swam away, and the surface of the stream rippled slightly. Steam rose, the water temperature rising rapidly.

_Your anger blinds you. And your hatred. You burn down everything you touch. Everywhere you go, death follows. _

Her breath hitched in fear. The flames around her fingers and feet flickered slightly and went out, the heat around her dissipating quickly. Her hands trembled as they hung limply at her sides. Earlier where there was wrath and loathing in her heart, was now filled with fear and uncertainty.

She hated herself for being born. And she was afraid. Afraid of loneliness and never belonging anywhere until she meets her end. Afraid that she will never have a home, that she would never have someone she loves.

There was only one person she loved more than herself in this world - her father. And she did not need a home as long as she could spend time with him.

_There must be another way, _she thought. _We can both stay in Ionia, earn their favor and ask for their assistance to fight the drake. There has to be another way._ _He doesn't have to do this alone. I have to persuade him. _

Shyvana grabbed her spear and her catch, heading back to the clearing. She wondered if her father would even listen to her. She knew that she had hurt him with her harsh words, but she intended to make everything right once again.

_I would have to apologize, _she sighed. _I hope he understands._

* * *

_I shouldn't have told her, _the old dragon thought. He kept his mind occupied by gathering resources and setting up traps, building a fire and crafting more tools. However, his worry for Shyvana only doubled.

He had a hunch that something bad was going to happen. The forest seemed too quiet today, and it was becoming more and more unsettling. He shrugged it off though, thinking that it was probably just him being thinking too much.

Until the sound of rustling leaves and birds squawking in fear reached his ears, which was promptly followed by a loud thud as though a tree had collapsed.

The old dragon reached out for a wooden spear, slowly creeping towards the source of the sound with his crippled leg shuffling behind him. His senses heightened as he summoned his draconic strength, his right hand wielding the spear tightly. He entered the part of the forest where he knew would be teeming with wildlife, be it squirrels and foxes or bugs and beetles roaming the greenery.

But there was no sound of bees buzzing around or bushes rustling with little animals running around. There was no sight of squirrels scurrying from branches to branches, or animals shying away from his sudden intrusion.

_Something's wrong. _

It only confirmed his fear when a strong smell of burnt wood hit him. In the distance, he could see clouds of smoke billowing out of the forest, as though some parts of the forest was on fire. Eventually he reached the source of the noise, and gasped in shock to see the devastation before him.

The grasses and bushes were singed, with toppled trees still blazing. There were marks carved into the blackened bark of the trees. He went near them to investigate, and found out that they were deep gashes . He went to the middle where there was a mess of burnt trees and scorched grass, accidentally stepping on a charred, mangled carcass of a deer that he was not aware of. It was burnt beyond recognition.

They wouldn't be safe here. Not for long.

The old dragon was about to head back to the camp when he realized Shyvana was still out there, oblivious to the danger around her. That thought made him feel queasy, and he turned on his heels to go searching for her. Then he saw something quick moving in the corner of his vision.

He had to duck when a carcass went sailing over his head, before hitting a tree and rolling harmlessly to the ground. He was stunned by the sight of the bloody body, its innards strewn everywhere. An ear-piercing cry startled him, and he only managed to turn before something enormous was hurled towards him, knocking the air out of him and pinning him to the ground.

"_There you are,_" the drake landed before him, chuckling at the old dragon. "_Took me a while to look for you two,_"

The old dragon groped desperately for the spear, grunting with every effort. He could see the drake approaching him, his jaws alight with flames that would burn him to cinders at close distance. When his fingers finally found what he looked for, he mustered his strength and threw it towards the drake, aiming for his eye.

Somehow the spear missed its mark, and instead impaled the drake's jaw. The drake threw back his head and roared painfully, letting off a burst of flames that exploded midair. He was stunned temporarily by the bright explosion, his claws flailing around to remove the spear.

Amidst the confusion, the old dragon willed himself to transform. He easily ripped apart the large tree that was restraining his movements, and burst forth with newfound strength towards the drake. Fire coated his hide and scales, setting grasses and plants and trees on fire. He leapt onto the drake, who was shaking himself out of his trance, and swiped his claws violently at the drake, tearing away scales, skin and leathery hide.

The drake roared with anguish and attempted to avoid his blows by locking his jaw on his wing. His tail lashed out and pierced a hole through the Celestial dragon's wing, and quickly plunged his fangs into his shoulder. The old dragon hissed, and spread his wings to retreat. He was surprised when instead of taking into the air, he was pulled backwards by the winds and stumbled onto the ground clumsily.

He looked down at his wing and grunted. His left wing was punctured, with a few bleeding wounds resulting from the drake's bite. He crawled backwards, putting some distance between him and the drake.

The drake emitted a feral growl. The old dragon grinned when he realized he had managed to inflict as much damage as he did. There were long, bloody gashes on the drake's scaly back, and rashes along his belly where his flames had struck him.

"_Still not giving up?_" the drake heaved, his tail whipping around impatiently.

"_Never,_" the old dragon's maw gaped, and he pounced onto the drake.

The drake flapped his wings and stepped backwards, as though he had anticipated what the old dragon would do. The old dragon was no longer capable of flight, and he only whined helplessly as he fell to the ground beneath the drake. Before he could climb to his feet, the drake's feet grabbed his neck and tail tightly, his talons digging into his flesh. He shot towards the sky and flew out of the forest.

The drake pumped his wings harder, flying further and further into the air while his prey struggled harmlessly within his talons. He flew high above the rocky ranges of the Great Barrier, then dived downwards, bringing the old dragon with him. He slammed the old dragon into a small hill, dragging him along as he gained speed. The old dragon cried piteously as his feet, wings and belly collided painfully with sharp rocks and boulders, leaving a long, devastating scar upon the rocky hill.

The drake was still relentless. He lifted the wounded dragon into the air, his teeth gleaming wickedly under the sun. The old dragon had gone limp in his grasp, bloody gashes and raw, red flesh visible on his belly and lower body. Blood was seeping from the wounds where the drake's talons had dug deep into his skin, suffocating him even more.

He plummeted towards the forest again, throwing the old dragon to the ground. The old dragon was so weak that he could barely lift his wing, and winced helplessly as he crashed to the ground, feeling his bones beneath his hide being snapped like twigs.

"_Where is the half-dragon?_" the drake descended upon him, one talon against his neck which pinned him to the ground. The old dragon protested weakly. He gurgled a reply, blood pouring from his mouth.

"_Somewhere safe,_" he hissed. His reply earned him a punch across his snout, leaving three deep cuts across his face. "_You better run. In the years to come, she'll cut you down like carving a cake,_"

"_Persistent fool,_" the drake howled. Fire flowed in the drake's mouth like liquid, and he drew his head backwards to land his fatal blow.

However, he was interrupted when a huge ball of fire smacked him across the face. The impact threw him off the old dragon, stumbling backwards until he regained his balance. A smaller dragon came sprinting towards the drake, flames coating her body like a burning armor.

The drake grinned viciously and rushed forward to meet his new opponent. He was fast, but the half-dragon was faster, throwing rapid punches and fireballs towards the drake. Rage made her blood boil, giving her an extreme burst of speed and strength. The drake successfully landed a few blows upon her, yet she kept clawing and jabbing as though it barely bothered her.

Shyvana lusted for his blood, and she refused to retreat. She saw how her father was terribly wounded, and it woke something beastly inside her. Fury clouded her mind, and all she could see was a burning red.

She grinned triumphantly when she saw uncertainty and panic in the drake's eyes. She blindly threw her claw forward, leaving herself open for a counterattack. The drake saw his opportunity and took it, spinning his body in a wide arc and slammed his tail into her vulnerable stomach.

Shyvana gasped for breath, and her father watched helplessly as she was flung through the air. Her back met a large boulder with a sickening crunch, and she dropped to the ground, grunting painfully. Flames flickered out as the dragon slowly shrank,leaving a frail girl with a pair of poor-looking gauntlets, covered by a ragged and burnt cloak.

"_You little half-human runt,_"

Shyvana opened her eyes wearily, her vision swimming as she tried to look around her. Her heart raced with panic when she noticed the drake crawling towards her, bloodlust filling his fiery, vengeful gaze.

She saw a larger figure behind the drake, and gasped in relief when her father let forth a torrent of flames. The drake howled in pain, his enormous form shielding Shyvana from the Celestial dragon's breath. When the flames died, smoke was rising from the drake's scales and his head quivered before falling to the ground. His wings twitched violently, and the rise and fall of his chest showed that he was still alive.

He shoved the unconscious drake to the side, shuffling limply towards his daughter before falling as well. His breathing was ragged, and blood still flowed incessantly from his mouth and grievous wounds. Shyvana crawled towards him, grunting and whimpering as her stomach throbbed painfully.

He was dying, there was no use denying it.

The old dragon coughed, sputtering blood across the scorched ground. She would be on her own from now on. And he regretted leaving her so soon. He smiled sadly when his daughter reached out a hand for him, tears streaming down her face. There was nothing he could do to comfort his grieving daughter.

He thought of the woman whom he fell in love with. He would be joining her soon. But before that, he wanted Shyvana to know the truth about her mother. That she did what she could to keep her safe.

"Shyvana," his voice was a hoarse whisper. "Your mother-"

A large, scaly foot stomped on the old dragon's neck, crushing his windpipe. Blood spewed from the dragon's broken neck, covering Shyvana from head to toe.

She screamed.

"_Inconceivable!_" the drake was covered in his own blood, his scales still smoking and his burnt flesh gleaming bright red. He gripped the dead dragon's horns forcefully with his claws and battered his head against the boulder again and again and again. Shyvana stared horrifyingly as her father's skin broke apart, revealing the skull beneath. The drake continued his endless pounding, splitting the skull and tearing brain matter apart, roaring and howling all kinds of angry insults as he kept ramming.

She was too weak to do anything but _watch._

The drake panted heavily, then lifted his head and glared at her. Shyvana cowered in fear and tried to crawl backwards. The drake was about to leap before he noticed a bright light beneath him, drawing Shyvana's attention as well.

The dead dragon's chest glowed, and the heat surrounding them rose as well. The drake poked the dragon's chest curiously, trying to figure out what was happening. The light became more intense. The drake went nearer to inspect the strange illuminating light.

When he realized what was going to happen, he tried to rear back but it was too late. The dead dragon's chest sizzled as heat flowed freely, and suddenly it exploded. Boiling blood coated the drake's head and seeped into his eyes, blinding him. The drake hissed and howled, his claws scratching his eyes furiously to relieve the pain.

_The Heart of Brambleback, _Shyvana realized. Somehow her father had managed to swallow the Heart before he died. The Heart boils the consumer's blood and flesh, giving him a surge of adrenaline rush. When he died, his corpse had gone cold, and the heat of the Heart reacted even more violently when surrounded by a cold body.

The drake cried piteously, failing to wipe away the blood that still sizzled in his eyes. He spread his wings and fled immediately, his howls echoing throughout the Great Barrier.

Shyvana hissed furiously, knowing that she should have struck the last blow when she had the chance. Her stomach screamed in pain as she tried to move about. Her back throbbed in pain as well, forcing her to lie down on her stomach.

Exhaustion took over, and she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Shyvana woke up to cold droplets of water hitting her cheeks and the sound of rolling thunder in her ears. When she opened her eyes and looked up, the skies had gone grey, and a heavy downpour splattered against the forest floors. She shivered as her cloak was soaked in the rain.

_Why am I out in the rain? Where is father?_

She groaned in pain as she propped herself on her elbows. She shuddered in fear as she recalled the nightmare she had earlier, remembering how the drake tore her father to pieces.

However, when she looked in front of her, she realized that it wasn't just a nightmare.

The puddles upon the muddy ground were a mix of blood and rainwater. Her father's corpse laid ahead, his neck snapped and his head pounded into a gory mess. His chest and belly had been torn apart, revealing his broken ribs and a deflated organ beneath that was now the colour of dark blue. Blood pooled around the dead dragon, flowing like little streams as the downpour grew heavier and heavier.

Shyvana choked back a sob, crawling towards her father. She felt so cold, yet she was too tired to summon her fire to warm herself up.

At this moment, there was nothing else she could remember except the argument she had had with her father before she stormed off in anger. She remembered how hurtful her words were, and she had no doubt that her father was upset with her. She would give anything just to take back those words, and tell her father how sorry she was.

"Father," she croaked. Her trembling hand reached out and stroked his broken wing, feeling the cold scales that used to be so warm and smooth. "Please forgive me," she buried her face into his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

There was no use apologizing. He could not hear her anymore.

A part of her died that day. Her heart was now devoid of hope and happiness. She was truly alone now, and she would never find companionship until the end of her days.

_Remember Shyvana, _her father's voice echoed in her mind. _After dawn, the sun will shine again, and the skies will be clear. No sadness lasts forever._

"No sadness lasts forever," she mumbled, more tears running down her cheeks. Those words seemed meaningless to her now. All her life she had been hiding and running away from the drake. Her life had been filled with nothing but misery and woe and desperation. Her skies will never be clear.

_I will kill him_, Shyvana's hand clenched into a fist. She pounded the muddy ground furiously, splattering water and blood everywhere. _I will avenge you, father. I will break his neck like he had broken yourself, and I will tear his fucking heart out while he is still alive. _

Her heart burnt with fierce determination as she found her new purpose in life: vengeance for her father. But right now, she was too tired and hungry to do anything. She looked at her father's corpse as sadness overwhelmed her once again. She wasn't ready to leave him yet.

Shyvana lifted his wing and crawled underneath, seeking for warmth. His scales, however, were cold, and she used what little strength she had left to summon a little spark of flame, enough to warm up herself and her father. She wanted to spend the last night with her father, snuggling into his warm embrace. She remembered how he would pull her towards him whenever the night was too cold, and she knew she would always be safe in her father's embrace.

She knew that when she woke up, her father's corpse would be cold once again. She pushed the thought away and pretended that he was just sleeping, ignoring the blood that drenched her cloak.

Shyvana couldn't help but reminisce the days when her family had been whole, when they all sat at the dinner table laughing and eating gleefully without a single worry on their minds. She sniffled and nuzzled her face against her father's shoulder, allowing herself to be pulled into slumber once again.

The next day she would go after her father's murderer. But for now, she grieved in silence.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks to all those who left a review. Once again, reviews are very much appreciated. **


	6. Chapter 6: Trust No One

**Chapter 6 : Trust No One**

The resounding and heavy footsteps that echoed through the forest was what woke her, and she didn't feel too pleasant about it. The heavy downpour was now a fine drizzle, which would have been unnoticeable if it wasn't for the ripples in the puddles of water on the ground.

Puddles of water, with traces of blood.

Shyvana groaned. Where there was an excruciating pain near her stomach earlier was now replaced by numbness. The back of her eyes hurt, and her head felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. She wanted to slip back into her sweet slumber, instead she jolted awake when she caught the suspicious sounds of _clop, clop, clop, _like that of a trotting horse_. _Shyvana inhaled sharply. She retreated back into her father's wings, and listened.

The ominous and rhythmic _thud _of the footsteps grew louder, piercing the thick silence around her.

She pressed her ear to the ground and counted. The footsteps sounded too heavy to belong to a human. Horses. About six to eight of them.

She stayed still and pulled her father's wing snugly around her body, and waited.

"... leads to here," A voice belonging to a young but mature man said. "I swear, there were two of them, writhing and tangled with each other in the skies,"

"Could be winged lizards, lad," this one sounded old, yet strong. "Probably terrified of the forest fire. That's what you see, aye," His answer earned a few chuckles from several other men.

"_They were fighting!_" the young man persisted. "It might even be the dragon that we were hunting!"

Shyvana's ear twitched in anger. Had these men been hunting for her father?

"Whatever it is," another man sighed. This man's voice was different than the other two. Where the others' voice had sounded tough, mature and battle-hardened, this one sounded more authoritative and confident, worthy of reverence and admiration among the group. "We should take a look at the fire. A forest as damp as this doesn't erupt in flames for no reasons. Something must have happened,"

The group grew silent after that. Shyvana could tell that they were almost near by the loudness of the horses' hooves. And she was startled when the heightened screams and whinnies of the horses punctured the unnatural silence, and yelps and shouts from the men trying to calm the frightened beasts.

_They could smell the blood, _Shyvana reasoned. She sniffed the air curiously, and winced as the coppery stench wafted through her nostrils.

"What had them so spooked?" one of the man cursed, the strain in his voice showed that he still struggled with his horse. She then heard the sound of a man dismounting his horse, and soft footsteps approaching the burnt and bloodstained part of the forest.

She forced herself to remain still, trying to calm her racing heart. The sound of the footsteps died, and she could hear the man gasp in horror and wonder.

"The boy was right," he said. "Prince! You have to see this!" he shouted with excitement and awe.

More footsteps. And this time, she could hear the clatter of armored boots. Armed. These men were armed.

"A carcass," the young lad inhaled sharply. "A dragon carcass," Whispers and mumbles came from the men.

"A Celestial dragon," the man with the powerful voice said. He must be the one the boy referred to as the 'prince'. "A rare species admired among the dragonkind. Yet it lies dead in a forest far from its homeland,"

"And killed by a dragon," another man added.

"Dragon spoils are hard to obtain," a man with a particularly cruel voice said, his voice filled with mirth. "Let alone a Celestial dragon. Imagine the weaponry we can craft with these materials,"

Shyvana's body tensed.

"What do you suggest, August?"

The man named August laughed wickedly. "Carve its hide and scales. Its horn will be useless though. We can have the best weapons and armor of Demacia forged out of these materials,"

The sharp sound of a blade drawn from its sheath rang through the air. And Shyvana's rage hit its peak. Her father had died painfully, and she would not have his body ravaged by these men, whoever they were.

She balled her hands into fiery fists, her gauntlets heating up like her boiling rage. Her anger lent her strength, and she hopped to her feet and jumped over her father's corpse to face the men, snarling with fury.

There were six of them, all dressed in battle-worn armor with various weapons. One of them stood out from the other five. He wore a suit of armor that shone like yellow gold, adorned with horns and claws and pelts of monsters she had known to belong to southern Valoran. His helm was shaped like a horned crown, with a single magnificent jewel in the middle. Strapped to his back was a splendidly forged lance, with silver tipped spikes and edges so sharp it could probably pierce armor of stones.

Everything about this man was impressive, let it be his gait, his posture or the way he carried himself. As though he was born to lead an army into war.

They all looked at her, eyes and mouths wide with bewilderment. It quickly faded and the men went rigid, drawing their weapons and aiming them at her. All except the man in the golden armor, who only stood with a stoic expression. His men formed a defensive ring around him, weapons raised and ready to fend off any threats.

"Who are you?" he asked. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes meeting her disdainful glare.

"Someone you don't want to mess with," Shyvana simply said. "Leave,"

"The real question, my prince, is _what_ she is," the man named August twirled a knife in one hand and held a bludgeon in another. "Look at her, how can she be human?"

The man named August was but a poor-looking man, his face full of scars. A particularly long scar stretched from his forehead down his cheek which split his lips, and one eye was entirely white. He had shaved away half of his hair, showing off the prominent burns and old scars on his shaved head. Even his hands and neck was criss-crossed with little white gashes and long, thin scratches.

The men remained passive, even though she noticed that some of them tightened their grip on their weapons.

"She is the half-dragon," August said proudly. "The stories are real,"

"_Leave!_" Shyvana roared. Some of the men jumped, some took a fearful step backwards.

The prince only stood forward, urging his men to step back. He flexed his fingers and held Shyvana's gaze. He ignored August's disapproving stare. "I will ask again. Who are you? What business do you have here?"

Shyvana did not answer. She could feel her strength starting to fade. She looked down and was shocked to see her hands trembling with exhaustion, not fear. She could feel something warm and wet trickling down her stomach. Blood. Her wounds did not heal at all, and after such exertion, they only worsened.

Still, her amber eyes burnt with anger. Within her was a maelstrom of emotions - anger, grief, hatred and remorse. If she was going to die today, she will burn down these men with her last breath. None of them will lay a finger on her father's corpse.

However, the prince seemed to have noticed her sudden shift in demeanour. His forehead creased in a frown. "You're hurt,"

"Why do you care?" her feet was already swaying back and forth, she could collapse at any moment.

"We mean no harm," he raised his hands in a placating manner. "Let us help you,"

"I don't _need _help. I need you to leave my father alone!"

"The other dragon killed him, no?"

Shyvana breathed hard. She was finding it difficult to even stand steadily. Her vision was already swirling, and what the prince said only made her feel nauseous. However, her chest burnt with raw anger, a desire to hunt down the drake and slaughter him like a stray dog.

It was then that she realized she was also angry because she was now in a poor condition. Alone and wounded, there was nothing she could do but lay huddled in a corner and starve to death.

"Why do you care?" she simply said with a small voice. She looked down at the ground in grief, almost wishing that the men would do her a favor to end her life there and then. She could not fight the drake, not in her current condition.

"Don't you want to avenge your father?"

That question made her curious, and she looked up at the prince warily.

"We have heard of you, half-dragon," the prince continued. "Smallfolk spoke of a black dragon going after a half-breed, tearing towns and villages apart when they failed to hand her over. We have decided to put an end to it for the good of mankind, but I have always dismissed the stories of the half-dragon as a hoax. Well, until you appeared,"

Shyvana remained staring at him.

"Aren't you going to go after your father's murderer?" he quickly averted her gaze towards the dead dragon, before meeting her eyes again.

She blinked once, twice, noting the uneasy silence in the air. His men still did not lower their weapons, but she couldn't help but feel curious about the prince's motives. "What is it that you want?" she squinted at him.

"An enemy of my enemy is my friend," the prince said. "We can fight the dragon together. You can journey with us, you won't survive if you're alone with that wound. Let us aid you for now. After we have defeated him, we will part ways and never meet again,"

She couldn't help but feel suspicious. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because you will die if you don't,"

Shyvana lowered her gauntlets, and his men lowered their weapons. She tried to resist the urge to hiss in pain or clutch her wounded stomach, glaring at the prince angrily. She will let them help her, she will join them on their quest to hunt the drake. But putting her trust in a human was the last thing she would ever do.

She had made that mistake before, and it would never happen again.

* * *

It was already nightfall by the time they had set up camp somewhere not too far from the devastated forest. The entire trip had been spent in awkward silence, with her traveling at the rear of the group on a black stallion. The men occasionally threw wary glances over their shoulders, and she returned their glances with a hateful glare.

_Yes, you better be cautious,_ Shyvana mused. _I will kill all of you once I see any signs of betrayal. _

Shyvana climbed up a tree and watched as they set up camp, and she was surprised at how cooperative and progressive the men worked. The prince would shout orders while pitching tents himself. Some of the men would go around gathering resources and hunt, some other would remain to help the prince with the defenses of the camp. It wasn't long before the camp was completely set up, with a nice fire going in the middle of the camp.

Shyvana leaned her head against the tree trunk as she laid her tired legs across the thick branches. Until someone below called out.

"My lady!" it was the young lad with black hair and handsome green eyes. He cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out to her. "My lady, the prince asks if your wound needs to be attended!"

Shyvana gingerly touched her wounded side and frowned. She had torn a piece of her cloak and wrapped it around her stomach like a bandage. She knew how to tend to a wound, she just didn't have the thread and needle to deal with it right now. She swung her legs off her branch and threw herself off the top of the tree, landing gracefully in front of the boy. He jumped, shock clearly written on his face.

"H-h-he's in the tent," he stuttered. Shyvana would have laughed if only the wound wasn't so excruciating. She strutted towards the tent, her mind screaming in pain every step she took. She ignored the boy and hastened her pace.

"My lady-"

She whirled around suddenly. He stopped and stepped back in fear.

"Shyvana,"

"Wh-what?"

"My name," she said. "Use it," she turned around and continued her way to the tent, paying no heed to the boy's stupefied expression.

He stood there with his mouth dropped open with shock, before shouting again. "I'm Alfie!"

Shyvana only entered the tent without throwing him a single glance.

* * *

Prince Jarvan IV sat in his tent, tending to a bowl of wine heated in a brazier. As he poked the glowing heap of coal in the brazier with a branch, he couldn't help but wonder about the half-dragon he had met earlier.

_Fierce, aye,_ he chuckled. _Fierce, yet loyal. _

She must have been hidden under her father's corpse and heard what they all said. He wouldn't blame her for her anger. If he were her, he wouldn't allow anyone to do further harm to his father's body. _Such __loyalty __has __never __been __seen __before__, __not __even __in __Demacia__._

Thinking of his home always saddened him. Thinking of Demacia would bring up his family, his good friend, Garen and the citizens who loved him as much as they loved themselves. He would think of his father, the king who was so regal and intimidating, that he could instill fear in each and every man throughout Demacia. He would think of his sweet, lady mother, Queen Catherine, who only cried and embraced him when he returned safe from Swain's capture. He would think of his lifelong friend, Garen, the brave, young Captain of the formidable Dauntless Vanguard, who saved his life by gallantly cleaving the enemy into two.

Impressed, he may be, but the prince couldn't help but feel jealous of Garen. When they returned to Demacia, the people had cheered and applauded. But he noticed that they all had their eyes on Garen. Even his father, who only threw him a shameful glance, patted Garen on his shoulder for his impressive display of bravery and prowess.

How was his father not ashamed? He led a whole company of men to their death. He came home not as a man full of glory and pride, but as a man with his tail tucked between his legs.

_Which is why I must make things right, _Jarvan thought. _I will show King Jarvan that I am no mere child, that I can lead my men to victory as well. Once I bring back the head of the dragon, father will be proud again. _

His thoughts were interrupted when the flap of the tent opened, and the half-dragon walked in.

She looked paler than she had been a few hours earlier. Her blue-grey skin was lighter, and her cloak was drenched in mud and blood. Her red hair was a tangled mess, and her face was hard as stone. Yet in her eyes a dim fire burnt. A fire that sparkled with fury and defiance that lusted for revenge. Jarvan couldn't help but shiver.

He noticed that her knees were shaking. She plopped down on the floor and crossed her legs. They only stared at each other, not knowing what to say. The awkward silence grew thicker and thicker in the air.

"Just hand over the needle and thread," she began. "I can tend to my own wounds,"

Jarvan raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? The wound could have festered. Maybe you would like me to-"

"No,"

He reached for a bag containing needles, thread and a few rolls of bandages. He sat down beside her and ignored her angry glare.

"Show me your wound," he said quietly.

"Give me the needle, I can do this alone,"

He sighed. "What if the wound is infected?"

"That's none of your business,"

"You could die,"

"Maybe, still I don't see why you should care,"

"Because I promised you that I will help you,"

She pursed her lips, a frown prominent on her face. He thought he saw a flicker of emotion across her face earlier. What was it? Astonishment?

Still her hand clutched her stomach, refusing to show him her wound.

"Are you always this stubborn?"

"I don't trust humans," she said matter-of-factly, her gaze shifted to the other side of the tent. "You humans make promises, and you always break them,"

"Funny because you are still half-human,"

"I wished I wasn't," she retorted.

He was startled by her response. "You don't have to trust me," he simply said. "You don't have to trust any of us. I don't know what happened to you or your father or why that dragon is after you. But what I do know is that if that wound is infected and you're not treating it properly, you are going to die. And your father, will die in vain,"

The half-dragon said nothing, but he could see sadness and grief in her eyes. She was still mourning for her father.

"You can choose to die today, or die on the day you slay your father's killer,"

After what seemed like a long while, the half-dragon reluctantly pulled back her cloak. She lifted the hem of her bloodstained tunic gingerly, revealing the long gash that was still caked with dark blood and mud. The wound was still dripping blood, and pus oozed from the edges of the wound. Some parts of her flesh had gone black, and must be removed before the infection spread further.

"Your wound has gone bad," he went to the brazier and obtained a bowl of mulled wine. "I have to cut away the rotten parts of your flesh. I hope you can endure it,"

The half-dragon snorted. "You underestimate me,"

He drew his dagger, and jumped back when he saw her body stiffen. Jarvan placed the dagger over the hot coals, one hand raised in a calm gesture to show that he meant no harm. She relaxed again, and he proceeded with threading the needle.

When the dagger was glowing white-hot, he held the hilt of the dagger carefully, gesturing her to lie down. He had heard the legends that only dragonfire could truly burn through a dragon's hide, but he was not so sure about a half-dragon.

She laid down on the ground, displaying the horrible wound he was about to tend to. Before the edge of his steaming dagger could touch her festered wound, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He yelped as heat flowed through his vambrace, blisters rising on his wrist

"_Don__'__t you dare try anything funny,_" her voice grew dangerous, like the deep rumble of an agitated beast. "_I__'__ll know,_"

He only nodded, looking frantically at her hand and the sparks that danced across her gauntlet. She released her grip and he moved the dagger closer to the wound, sinking its edge slightly into the side of the rotten flesh.

A few drops of blood beaded at the tip of his dagger, and she hissed. The heat of the dagger caused the wound to steam, parts of rotting flesh falling away as he gently ran the flat of the blade across the deep gash. He could tell from the way she gritted her teeth that the pain was excruciating. And he thought of an idea to help her with the pain.

"So," he started. "You haven't told me your name,"

She screwed her eyes shut as he continued cutting away her flesh. She did not seem to hear him.

"I'm… Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth," he said again, this time slightly louder. She opened her eyes and looked at him with a frown. "The Crown Prince of Demacia, just as my men had addressed me earlier,"

She took a few deep breaths through her mouth. "What is a prince doing here, so far from home?" she asked.

_Well at least she responded,_ he mused. "I am looking for… something," he answered awkwardly. "And unless I have found it, I don't plan to return home,"

"Demacia," she whispered in wonder. Her face may be contorted in pain, but Jarvan could see that the mention of his home reminded her of something from her past. "I was told that it is a city of righteousness and just,"

"It is," he chuckled. "Tell me about your home,"

At this point she was in too much pain to care about being cautious. "I do not have a home," she gasped. "Not anymore,"

There was a little more, and Jarvan tried to speed up his treatment. He accidentally drove the blade deeper, earning a warning hiss from the half-dragon. He dropped his head apologetically, slowly chipping away the bad flesh. She sighed as she continued.

"My father and I travelled. Never stayed in one place," her voice was strained. "Then the drake came, we had no choice but to seek refuge in the Great Barrier,"

"The drake?" he asked curiously, keeping his eyes on the wound. A little bit more to cut away.

"A smaller dragon," she paused for a while. "Faster and more cunning. He was hunting for me, my father was just a hindrance for him to get rid of,"

By the time he pulled away the dagger from her wound, the blade was stained with blood and black, rotten flesh. Her wound was now the colour of bright pink and red, having removed most of the infected flesh. Jarvan dumped the dagger into a basin of water, before threading the needle and dipping the needle into the bowl of hot wine.

He reached into his pack and threw a flask at her. She caught it in the air and looked at him oddly. "It's moonshine. Strong stuff, but helps with the pain,"

She removed the cork and downed half of the substance instantly. He was surprised that she did not even choke from the drink. Half of his men could mostly stand one or two cups before collapsing to the ground drunk, let alone half a flask. _A strong drinker, this one, _he couldn't help but smile.

"Moonshine? I thought this stuff is illegal," she asked.

"In Demacia, maybe," he poured a little wine on her wound. She did not react in pain, only staring at him curiously. "But I am far from home, and I'm not going back soon anyway. No one would care,"

"You said you were looking for something," her eye twitched when he pierced the needle into her flesh. "What is so important that a prince has to come to the Great Barrier to search for it himself?"

"Answers," he replied.

She said nothing, watching as he worked the needle with deft fingers.

"Well, 'atonement' would be more appropriate. But," he shifted uncomfortably. "I don't really know what I am searching for. My men and I traversed far from the city we took pride in, fighting and slaying monsters and malevolent beings just so I could find answers. Each time I defeated them, I felt no different. I expected change, and I was disappointed when I found none. So I came to the Great Barrier, seeking for more challenge,"

He was halfway done stitching her wound. The half-dragon barely made a noise, even though he noticed that she dug her nails into her thighs, almost drawing blood. "The monsters here were stronger, cleverer and fiercer. Yet each time they drop dead at my feet, I feel as empty as ever. True, I grew stronger, more experienced, still I can't feel satisfied. There is something I'm supposed to have as a prince, and yet I don't. I can feel it. But I can't tell what it is,"

The half-dragon looked at him with an expression close to pity. She chuckled. "Turns out the prince is just a lost man,"

He met her gaze pleadingly as he snipped the thread, making sure that the stitches had completely sealed the wound. He must have stared at her looking like a lost puppy, because the half-dragon laughed when she caught him staring at her.

"Don't look at me," her voice grew solemn. "I'm no philosopher. Just a survivor,"

"You said the drake was hunting for you. Why?" he avoided her gaze, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Are you blind or what?" he was shocked when her tone became malicious. "I'm a _half-dragon_. What makes you think that mixing a human and a dragon's blood is a good idea? I am nothing but a freak in everyone's eyes,"

Jarvan looked at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know,"

She did not hide her surprise, as though she did not expect him to apologize. When she spoke, anger and contempt were still evident in her words. "Don't say you're sorry. Humans are never sorry for what they did,"

"What makes you hate humans so much?"

She sniggered. "I don't hate them. I just don't trust them anymore. If there is one thing I learnt from the years I spent with mankind, it is to trust no one. They don't mean everything they say," There was sadness in her eyes, but it was gone just as quick as it came.

She stood up and prepared to leave. Jarvan panicked. "You will tear open your wounds. It would be best if you stay and rest in this tent,"

The half-dragon turned back and frowned at him. "No, I'd rather not. It would be better if I sleep on a tree,"

Jarvan thought she was just jesting, until he saw how serious she actually was. He gave her a puzzled look, "I just treated your wound, what makes you think I would stab you in your sleep?"

"You might be a good man, I don't know," she shrugged. "But your men might not. Sleeping on a tree keeps me vigilant. Plus, I doubt that your men can climb up the tree before I rip them from limb to limb," with that, she turned away and shambled towards the opening of the tent. He saw a flask in the half-dragon's grasp, and his heart sank.

"Wait, my moonshine!"

"It's illegal, anyway," the half-dragon looked back with an impish grin. "I'll take this moonshine, as a token of your sincerity, perhaps?" she laughed.

He could only whine piteously as she took a quick swig from the flask, grinning at him deviously. That moonshine had cost him several pieces of gold, and he had thought of saving it for later.

"Oh, by the way, Prince Jarvan," his name sounded weird on her tongue, and he only frowned at her. "My name's Shyvana, the Half-Dragon," she performed an exaggerated bow before exiting the tent.

_Aye, she__'__s fierce, _his frown only deepened as he mourned for the loss of his favourite drink. _Not to mention feisty as well._

* * *

August was taking the first watch when everyone had retired to rest. The prince strode towards the fire pit, the flames reduced to dying embers. Prince Jarvan sat down opposite him, briefly distracted when he heard the faint rustle of leaves on a tree nearby. He paid it no heed, however, and took out a whetstone to hone his lance.

He could tell that August was staring at him, wanting to say something.

"My prince," he whispered. "You don't intend to let the half-dragon stay with us, do you,"

Jarvan looked up from his lance and frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"That half-blood is an abomination, she's barely even human or dragon," August pursed his lips, his scar stretched taut. "Her coming means ill-omen for us all,"

"You're being superstitious, August," Jarvan chuckled.

"I'm being cautious, my prince. She may be half-human, but she's also half-dragon. She has bestial instincts. You never know what's on her mind,"

The smile on Jarvan's face died, and he leaned forward a little, the dying fire casting an eerie glow upon his face. "We don't know where our target is right now. She knows more about the dragon than us, or the drake as she called it. She can lead us to it,"

August remained doubtful.

"Haven't you seen her power today? That wound could have left anyone weak and unconscious, yet she could stand and fight and walk. She's called the half-dragon for a reason. If I can gain her trust, she will lend us her power. If possible, I might even recruit her into the Demacian military. She will be a great boon to my father's army,"

"You're being nice to her to use her," August tutted. "Prince, you're cunning,"

"Perhaps I am," Jarvan did not share his smile. "I will do everything I can to make my father proud again, and killing this drake will be a start,"

"What makes you think she'll trust you?"

"She owed me,"

August raised an eyebrow. "How?"

_She took my moonshine. _"I treated her wounds. Or she would have died,"

"Well, I hope you're right then. If the half-beast knows that you're using her for your own benefits," he shuddered. "I don't think I want to know the consequences,"

Jarvan only smiled. He knew he should feel proud of himself, yet he felt guilt gnawing at him from the inside. As though whatever he was going to do was wrong.

Perhaps he should be genuine to her, even if she was only half a human?

Jarvan pushed the thought away. He would worry about it when the time comes.

* * *

**Please review :) It would be hard to update as frequent as before, school has just started for me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story so far. More to come!**


	7. Chapter 7: Shields and Spears

**Thank you so much for all the reviews, favourites and follows! They mean a lot to me, truly!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Shields and Spears**

The stench of blood and rotting flesh grew even more palpable after a day, a dead dragon in the middle of the blackened forest floor. Its head was bashed in and his body was damaged beyond recognition. The blood that had flowed like rivers the night before were now dried and dark, forming crusts upon the ground.

Seeing her father in that state filled her with grief again. She was overwhelmed with hundreds of emotions, none of them pleasant. She wanted to kill and burn everything in her path. She wanted to tear the forest and the entire Great Barrier apart.

Most of all, she wanted to cry.

_No tears,_ she reprimanded herself. She shut her eyes tightly, swallowing the burning lump in her throat. _A dragon feels no remorse. I will not cry. Vengeance. I will remember my purpose. _

_Vengeance__,_ her fists clenched tightly. The sadness and grief within her turned into hatred and spite. _Remember. V__engeance__. __Kill __him__. __Kill __the __murderer__. _

Shyvana lifted a hand, shielded by her gauntlet. She will never remove her gauntlets, no matter where or when, not until she slew her foe. They will be a reminder to her of her purpose. They will be the weapons she will wield to slay the drake, and she will feed them with her enemy's blood.

She summoned a bright ball of fire, ready to set her father's corpse on fire for cremation. Her father once told her that when a dragon dies, his kin would build the deceased a pyre for cremation as a form of respect. They were creatures born of fire, and to fire they will return.

Her eyes twinkled with melancholy when her gaze remained fixed at her father's broken body, knowing that she can never feel his affection or love for her again. She wanted to build him a pyre, but she could not build it all by herself. And the last thing she wanted was to ask for Jarvan's help.

She drew back her hand to launch the fireball, and stopped when she heard shuffling footsteps behind her. She lowered her hand and looked behind her.

"I went from trees to trees looking for you, turns out you are just clinging to the past," the prince said. He was dressed in a simple, rough-spun tunic and a pair of faded breeches. At his belt was a sheathed hunting dagger, which Shyvana eyed warily.

"I came to pay my respects to my father," she growled. She didn't like his sudden appearance. "My father deserves a funeral, at least,"

"True," he stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the corpse. "But you still miss him,"

Shyvana stared at him blankly, the flames already doused in her palm.

"I know how it's like to miss your family. After all, I'm a prince far away from home," Jarvan sighed. "Don't you want something from him to commemorate him?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"His hide and scales; strong, tough and beautiful. Make it into a cloak, and wear it," Jarvan offered her a kind smile. "He will always be there for you then, even after death. He will be your strength when we fight the drake. And you will always remember him,"

Her lips stretched taut. "My father had suffered enough. He does not deserve this,"

"No," the prince agreed, which Shyvana was puzzled with his response. "No one deserves this. Neither do you. Don't torture yourself with unpleasant memories. I may be wrong but, I suppose your father is the only loved one you have in this world?"

Shyvana said nothing. Jarvan carefully drew his hunting dagger and lay it before her feet.

"The decision is yours," he nodded and started to walk away.

Shyvana stared at the dagger before her. Without looking back, she asked, "Why would you help me?" She could not understand the prince's acts of kindness. She could not fathom the benefits he would gain by helping her. She was just a beast, capable only of destruction and death.

Jarvan stopped in his tracks. "You said you never, ever trusted humans again because they always break their promises. I will prove you wrong, I will show you that not all of us are like that," he stared at her, his eyes reflecting seriousness and sincerity. "I promised you that I will help you slay the drake, and I will keep it,"

He left Shyvana who remained rooted to the ground, not knowing what to say. She looked back at the dagger, and picked it up.

She approached her father. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she lifted the dagger. She reached out to smooth a hand down her father's leathery back, her hand trembling at the coldness of his scales that once radiated warmth.

"Forgive me, father," she whispered sadly, and slowly dug the edge of the blade into his skin.

* * *

Shyvana sat upon a branch, trying to sew her father's hide onto her ragged cloak as the men below hustled around busily, preparing for their journey north. She hissed and groaned in frustration every time she tried to pierce the needle into the thick hide, cursing at her own sewing skills.

"Do you need help?" Jarvan called out from below. She could tell from his tone that he was teasing her. "I don't know, maybe I'm better at sewing?"

"_Shut up!_" Shyvana shouted. "What kind of prince sews anyway? I thought they have _swimstresses _or whatever the fuck that is!"

"Seamstresses," he corrected. "Well basically, sewing a wound is like sewing clothes. So yeah, maybe I'm better,"

"Like hell you are. You suck at first aid!"

"But hey, your wound has sealed, hasn't it?" the mirth in his voice only irked her even further. She was tempted not to climb down the tree and slap the humor out of his face.

She ignored him and returned to her work, sewing the hide to the cloak. Even if the scales and leathery hide were battered and bruised, they still gleamed with power and elegance. She would be proud to don the cloak once it was finished, even though her sewing was atrocious.

Speaking of her sewing, it could probably make a three-year-old cry in laughter.

"By the way," the tone of his voice shifted a little, though she could tell he was still amused. "Don't you want to break your fast with us? You have not eaten since last night,"

"I'm not hungry," Shyvana quickly lied. Unfortunately, her stomach rumbled in protest.

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. She could tell that Jarvan was trying hard to muffle his laughter, a wide grin upon his princely face. She turned away so that Jarvan could not see her reddened cheeks, working on her sewing furiously.

"Well, if you change your mind, come to the fire pit. Horace makes really good stew," with that, he turned around and left her on the tree, contemplating on whether to join them for breakfast.

_I am hungry, _she admitted. _But joining them meant I have to converse with them. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?_

As though proving a point, her stomach rumbled loudly again.

_Fine. _She wrapped the undone cloak into a sack and hid it among the canopy of leaves. _If they ever ask questions, I__'__ll just give perfunctory answers. Hell, I can just ignore them. _She leaned forward, and pushed herself off the branch.

* * *

Horace, or whoever the heck that was, made really good stew. There was no denying it.

Shyvana sat at the back of the group, sipping and savoring her bowl of stew. The men were still wary of her, throwing occasional fearful glances at her way. She pretended not to notice, silencing Jarvan with a glare whenever he tried to make a comment about her sewing.

Shyvana couldn't help but scrutinize the youngest and smallest of the group, Alfie. His face still held innocence and naivety, even though earlier when he had faced her, he had tried to put on a courageous face. There were barely scars or scratches on his smooth skin compared to the other men. Alfie was merely a green, summer boy, and she could not understand his use among the prince's company.

Alfie noticed her staring at him. His eyes met hers, shock and fear palpable on his face. He gasped and accidentally choked on a piece of meat, sputtering and coughing violently.

Jarvan looked at Alfie then at Shyvana blankly. "Shyvana, what is it?"

_It was nothing, _she wanted to say. But curiosity always got the better of her. "What is a green boy like him doing here?"

The prince looked at her dumbly, not understanding her question.

"The Great Barrier is a dangerous place, even veterans think twice before venturing this far south," she laid down her bowl of stew. "It is no place for a boy like him,"

Jarvan offered a humorless smile. "I picked twelve of the best from the military before I leave Demacia. Do you think I would pick a worthless boy not capable of anything to travel with me?"

The men around her murmured in agreement.

"Alfie may look a little weak, there's no denying it," Kyvan, the largest in the company with a scrawly beard who donned an absurdly enormous shield, spoke. His voice rumbled like thunder, his brows forever creased in a frown. "But you've never seen the boy with a bow and arrow. He could shoot a squirrel in the eye five hundred yards away,"

"Aye," Lance nodded, reaching the pot for a second helping. He was the fastest among the men, his weapon of choice a pair of short swords. "How do you think Alfie noticed two dragons fighting from afar? We traveled the entire night from the east of the Barrier to here. This kid's got keen eyes,"

"He's one of a kind, truly," Jarvan whispered, his voice full of awe.

Instead of puffing his cheeks haughtily, Alfie only blushed from the men's praise, saying nothing with his eyes down-cast on his stew. Shyvana's eyes betrayed no emotions, her face hard as stone as she shifted her gaze to Jarvan.

He met her glare with an amused look. "What is it? Admiring my perfect face?" he pointed at his own face, smiling proudly.

She did not share his humor. "You said you picked twelve men,"

Most of the men tensed, their body going rigid. They all had their eyes fixed on the half-dragon, their glares enough to pierce through her. The playful smile on Jarvan died instantly, replaced by myriads of emotions that Shyvana could not catch. One second it showed sadness and woe, next it was anger and frustration, then suddenly confusion and hopelessness.

Prince Jarvan was not who he seemed to be, that much was pretty clear to her.

"Well?" Shyvana raised an eyebrow, daring him to explain himself. "What happened to the other seven?"

It was the first time she saw him so lost and hurt and in need of guidance. She almost pitied him, but she needed to know what he was keeping from her.

"I…" he stammered, swallowing hard. "Some of them did not survive. There were times when I was too reckless…"

"Reckless?" she snorted. "You, as a leader of your men, could not ensure your comrades' survival? Were you just a blind prince after all? If you can't help your men keep themselves alive, how are you suppose to help me?"

His eyes remained fixed on the ground, looking away from her shamefully.

"Who do you think you are?" August hissed at her. "What do you understand? You're just a half-beast. You will never understand the prince's pain. You only know him for barely a day,"

She whirled towards August, her eyes promising death. "This is between your precious prince and me. Stay out of it, fucked-face,"

August's face contorted with fury, his hand went to the bludgeon near his belt. His lips quivered uglily with immense anger, and he rose to his feet.

"Enough, August," the prince commanded. "She isn't wrong. I was reckless and naïve. I couldn't save them,"

August sat down again, mumbling curses at Shyvana. She kept her gaze on the prince, who let off an exasperated sigh and flashed her a sad smile. Shyvana tried to hide the shock on her face, but it failed.

"But I'm stronger now, and I have yet to prove my strength. Neither have you," the prince stood and stretched. "What do you say? A game of hunt?"

"What?" Shyvana remained surprised.

"Alfie said he saw a Great Murk Wolf somewhere in this region," Jarvan brandished his lance. "The first one to track the beast and kill it proves him or herself as the better hunter,"

"Hmph," Shyvana stood to her full height, though she was a head shorter than Jarvan. "Bring all your men, I will show you the strength of a dragon,"

Jarvan grinned playfully. He raised his hand in a command, "Soldiers, prepare for the hunt!"

* * *

_Steady, _Shyvana remembered her father's advice. _Remain calm, and be patient. Your prey will come to you. _

Except that this was no mere prey, but a gigantic, ferocious wolf that was twice the size of an adult, capable of ripping a man apart with its fangs and claws. Shyvana hid in the bush, listening for any abnormal footsteps with her heightened senses. She crept from bushes to bushes, at the same time vigilant of the whereabouts of the prince and his company.

_Could they have removed their armor? _Shyvana frowned. _No, Jarvan is too smart for that. _The clatter of their armor would easily attract the Murk Wolf, saving them the time and energy to search for it themselves.

Well, at least she would have the element of surprise. It would be better if she tail Jarvan and his men, follow them until they found the Murk Wolf, and pounce for the kill. Shyvana grinned triumphantly at the brilliance of her plan, and wrapped her poorly-sewn cloak around her tightly.

She swiftly climbed to a tree with the highest vantage point, perching on its branches and looking out for them. It was high enough that they wouldn't notice her presence there, nor would they walk past knowing that someone was right above their heads.

Shyvana waited, and waited, and waited. She rapped her fingers impatiently on the bark of the tree, lips curling as her patience ran out.

A sharp cry then rang through the air to her north, followed by a ferocious howl of an agitated wolf.

Shyvana sprung to action, hopping from branch to branch as she followed the source of the noise. She knew she was in the right direction when she heard the clank of metal boots and shields, the grunts of a man struggling with a large beast. Had Jarvan and his men been a step ahead of her?

Impossible, a company that large would have been noticeable by sound if not by sight. Shyvana was sure she could have heard them several hundred yards away.

When she caught sight of the battle, she was right. It wasn't Jarvan or any of his men, and the one that was battling the wolf surprised her.

It was only a young boy, donning a helmet with a T-shaped visor and a plume of feathers, his billowing red cape fluttering about as he stepped out of the wolf's strikes. He wore no breastplate nor tasset, only vambraces and greaves. In his right hand he held a long, menacing spear, in his left a brass shield that he was having trouble holding up. The boy was a lot smaller than the wolf, but Shyvana could see the fierce determination in his eyes that he meant to fight to his last breath.

The problem, however, was that he could never win.

The wolf had one blind eye, its dark grey fur matted and full of white scars. One claw was broken, but its fangs were enough to crush the boy's neck. Judging by its size and strength, this was a lone wolf, capable of survival and slaughter on its own.

_Be wary of scarred warriors, _her father once told her. _Scarred warriors are survivors. _

The Murk Wolf lunged again, its maw wide opened and aiming for the boy's neck. The boy thrust his spear forward, but it was poorly aimed, only grazing the wolf's jaw, drawing blood.

This only infuriated the beast, shaking its head vehemently and then swiped its claws. The boy held his shield up, the claws colliding with the brass shield and bouncing away. He countered again with a wide sweep of his spear, trying to catch the wolf off guard.

The wolf reacted quickly, locking its jaw around the shaft of his spear before snapping it into half. Beneath the helmet, she could tell that the boy's eyes were widened with shock and fear, staring longingly at his broken weapon.

It was a huge mistake that he would regret forever, as the Murk Wolf launched itself into him, its claws seeking for his blood and flesh. The boy stumbled and held his shield up for dear life, slamming it into the beast's jaw. The wolf was unfazed, pinning him to the ground and baring its fangs right before his face.

The boy knew he was done for, but he still held his shield up, resisting the wolf's advance and refusing to give in. Shyvana couldn't help but admire his perseverance.

_Should I help? _Shyvana conjured a ball of fire as she contemplated her options. She shrugged. _Well, I have to hunt it down anyway. _

With the speed and strength of a dragon, Shyvana jumped towards the pair. She allowed the heat of her flames flow into her gauntlets as she lifted both gauntlets above her head, ready to bring them down onto the wolf's back.

The wolf's ear twitched, sensing a threat behind it. Shyvana reared back in surprise, holding both her gauntlets forward for defense.

The wolf launched itself into her, slamming into her gauntlets as they both barreled into the dirt, the boy forgotten. Shyvana summoned fire around her, throwing punches towards the wolf as the air was filled with the smell of singed fur. The wolf took a couple of hits, swiping its claws furiously as it tried to bite her head off.

Shyvana felt threatened, and she gave in to her inner strength. Fire surrounded them both once again, as Shyvana felt her limbs and body stretch and shift, transforming into a full-grown dragon. She flipped over, changing the tide of the battle with her on top and the wolf beneath, quickly seizing the beast by its paws. Shyvana was now larger and more intimidating than the wolf, but the beast beneath had seen enough battles that it showed no signs of fear.

Its fur, however, caught fire and it spread. The Murk Wolf headbutted into her, freeing itself from her grasp. Shyvana stepped back, watching as the wolf began rolling on the ground, trying to put out the fire.

Shyvana prepared herself to execute a fatal blow, when Jarvan and his men rushed out of nowhere with weapons drawn. Jarvan gave off a ferocious battle cry, his lance poised and ready to impale his foe. All the while, Shyvana was too stunned to move.

In her dragon form, she rushed towards the wolf, hissing at the men menacingly. _"__Back off!_" she growled, throwing a fist forward.

"First one to land the last hit wins!" Jarvan thrust his lance, and it extended thrice its length. Shyvana pounced onto the wolf and pushed it away roughly, with Jarvan missing his mark.

"Hey!" Jarvan stomped his foot angrily. He retracted his lance and dashed forward again, trying to outmaneuver Shyvana's range.

Shyvana only grinned and inhaled deeply, her maw of sharp fangs glowing a fiery orange. Before she could expel her flame breath at the wolf, Jarvan shoved his shoulder into the dragon's belly, knocking the breath out of her. A jet of flames exploded and brightened up the forest for an instant. Jarvan scrambled roughly to his feet, drawing his lance backwards and turning around to throw it at the wolf.

When he turned around, the wolf pounced onto him, slamming him to the ground. Jarvan grunted painfully as he could feel claws digging into his arms. And he mustered all his strength to push the wolf away.

Shyvana suddenly appeared behind the wolf, in her human form. The wolf was oblivious to the danger behind him, as it kept growling and baring its fangs at Jarvan. Shyvana simply grabbed it by its head, before twisting it around with all her strength. The sound of a sickening crunch was heard, and the wolf fell limp onto the prince as Shyvana released it.

"I win," Shyvana smirked triumphantly, one hand planted on her hip.

"Prince!" his men rushed to him, and that was when Shyvana noticed a pool of blood flowing on the ground beneath Jarvan. Kyvan and Horace lifted the gigantic wolf's carcass, revealing Jarvan's lance which was buried deep in the Murk Wolf's chest, bathing both the prince and his lance in crimson blood.

"Heh," Jarvan grinned. The smirk on Shyvana's face twisted into irritation. "Looks like it's a tie,"

"I'm pretty sure I snapped its neck first," Shyvana retorted.

"Oh really?" Jarvan said mockingly. "Want another hunt?"

Shyvana crossed her arms and stared at Jarvan haughtily. "Why not?"

"Well-"

"You shouldn't have saved me,"

Surprised, they all turned their heads towards the one who was speaking. It was the boy who was fighting the wolf all by himself. He had taken off his helmet, his broken spear and brass shield on the ground. Without the helmet he looked even younger, as though he was just a child.

Jarvan frowned. "Who are you?"

"He was fighting the wolf earlier," Shyvana answered before the boy replied. "He was obviously no match against it, so I interfered,"

The boy's eyes were filled with despair and anguish. "You shouldn't have saved me, you should have let me die,"

"Excuse me?" Shyvana strode forward, her face twisted with anger. "I saved your life-"

"_We _saved your life," Jarvan corrected.

Shyvana ignored him. "- A thank you would suffice, really. You ungrateful brat,"

The boy was not disturbed by the sight of the half-dragon, as though he was subject to such horror everyday. He did not flinch when Shyvana glared down at him furiously. "You do not understand, it was a test. I was supposed to fight the wolf to prove my worth, and now you ruined it,"

Shyvana opened her mouth to yell at him, before Jarvan pulled her back. He stood forward and looked at the boy curiously.

"What kind of test?" he asked the boy.

"I suggest you run as far away as possible. I'm already dead the moment she jumped into the battle," the boy said with a stoned expression. Jarvan was shocked at how a boy his age could embrace death that easily. "They are coming, no doubt. And you will wish you have taken my advice,"

Shyvana furrowed her brows in confusion. "What do you-"

"_Shyvana! Look out!_"

It was too late. A large net sprouted overhead and enveloped the half-dragon in it. Shyvana hissed and flailed her arms frantically to fight the weight of the net. It only tangled with her limbs and the heavy weight pinned her to the ground. She looked around and saw that Jarvan and his men had had their weapons drawn, forming a circle around her.

She heard shouts, and saw that a few hundred men had surrounded them. The boy stood away from them, his knees on the ground as his head hung lowly, as if he was ashamed of his failure. The men surrounding them all had similar helmets with protruding red feathers, holding spears before them and brass shields. This men, however, were muscular and battle-hardened, unlike the boy. They looked like they could take on an army even if they were outnumbered ten to one.

Their spears were all pointed at Jarvan and his men. Shyvana laid on the ground helplessly, the weight of the net bearing down on her.

Among the army of stalwart warriors, one of them stood out. His cape was a dark shade of blue, and his spear was golden-tipped. The way he walked and presented himself suggested that he was the leader. He walked slowly towards the boy.

"Phillip," he said, his spear pointed at the boy's neck. "You have failed your task, and no Rakkor returns alive after losing a battle. Yet now you kneel in shame, incapable of slaying your foe. I give you one last chance to retake your honor and pride, do you yield?"

"I yield," the boy said, his voice filled with fierce honor and loyalty.

"Will you give your life to the Rakkor tribe in return to redeem your glory?"

The boy nodded.

"May the Sun God have you in His ranks," with that, he shoved the tip of his spear into the boy's neck, deep enough to give him a quick death. The boy did not gurgle or choke on his own blood, instead he closed his eyes and died gallantly.

The man pulled his spear from the corpse, and some of the men came forth to carry the corpse away, taking his brass shield and broken spear as well. Jarvan was horrified, his lance still held in front of him as the man strode fearlessly towards him. He stopped in front of the prince as they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Who are you?" Jarvan asked, his lance near enough to pierce the man before him.

"Jagen," he simply answered, his eyes beneath the helmet glowed with enthusiasm. "The current Kor leader of the Rakkor tribe, Wielder of Sunspear," he spun the golden-tipped spear as though it weighed nothing. "You?"

Jarvan did not lower his lance. "Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, Crown Prince and Exemplar of Demacia," he gestured to the Demacian jewel encrusted on his helmet, shining brilliantly. "I have heard of the rites of the Rakkor since young, yet I do not expect it to be so brutal,"

"Brutal," Jagen nodded. "But necessary. The Rakkor crave for the one and only thing in their lives - battle. Our tribe has no place for the weak, and despise those who fight our battles,"

"You send children out into the jungle to see if they survive, and you call it a test?" Jarvan spat. "Do you expect me to stand and watch him getting ripped apart?"

"The Great Barrier is a harsh place, more so on Mount Targon. We live by the rule of 'survival of the fittest'. We battle harsh climates and fearsome creatures to survive," all the Rakkor slammed their spears against their shields in agreement. "I do not blame you, prince. From where you come from, I bet you are showered in riches and comforts,"

It was obvious that Jagen was mocking him, but Jarvan took no notice of it.

"It matters not where I come from," he said. "Let us go, and we'll forget this slight. We never knew about your violent trainings and rites, and I apologize if we unintentionally _insulted _your traditions,"

"Then you must forgive me, I can't let you leave," Jagen shook his head. He looked over Jarvan's shoulder, at the half-dragon that laid seething and trapped beneath the net. "A creature like her… A half-dragon, yes, it will be quite a battle,"

"She's under my charge-"

"_Take this fucking net off me!_" Shyvana screamed, struggling against the net. "_I'll tear you from limb to limb!_"

"Shyvana-"

"Don't be stupid," she glared at Jarvan. "You obviously want to shove that spear up his pompous arse,"

_Well, she wasn't wrong. _Jarvan cleared his throat noisily. "If she wins the duel, so what?"

"You and your company will be free to go, and today's incident will be forgotten," Jagen held his spear aloft. "On my honor as a Rakkor,"

"Get this net off me then!" Shyvana yelled. The net was already steaming, yet it did not burn. She only grunted in frustration and threw her hands up in surrender. "I'll fight you here and then!"

"Not here," Jagen said curtly. "Back on Mount Targon. We have an arena there, the Rakkor would love to see a good fight. I will not be fighting you either," he turned towards his formidable army of warriors. "Who will dare stand up against the Half-Dragon?"

Their faces remained stoic, and none of them moved a muscle. Until one of them moved forward and slammed the butt of his spear against the hard earth. "I will, sire," his voice was full of spirit and strength, strong and unbreakable.

"Right," Jagen chuckled. "Of course you will,"

"Who?" Shyvana stretched her neck to get a good look at her opponent.

"Pantheon, the Artisan of War," Jagen said proudly. "The paragon of the Rakkor tribe, Protector of the Sun Warrior. It will be a great fight worth watching,"

Jarvan threw a glance over his shoulder, glaring at Shyvana. "I hope you win this duel. We had enough trouble for the day,"

"Hah," Shyvana snorted. "Whatever they throw at me, it can't be worse than what I have faced," she glared at Pantheon, whose strong build and unshaken will did not frighten her. Her amber eyes burnt. "Let me show you the power of a dragon,"

* * *

**It's pretty obvious that the Rakkor is based on Spartan warriors, and they are a fearless bunch. They live for battle, and they'd rather die in battle, hence the brutal portrayal of the Rakkor tribe. **

**If you have any questions you can always leave them in the reviews. I will gladly answer them. As always, reviews are very much appreciated and please leave one, if you don't mind. Have a nice day. Thank you! **


	8. Chapter 8: Turmoil

**So sorry for the late update. And thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites!**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Turmoil**

"Are you sure you don't want a helmet?" Jarvan looked at Shyvana skeptically, whereas Shyvana tightened both her gauntlets. She had gotten used to its weight, and could move them around with ease.

Shyvana proceeded with putting on a pair of pauldrons. They could hear the excitement of the Rakkor tribe outside the arena, waiting for the battle between one of their own and a dragon to begin. She frowned at the prince's look of concern, waving it away. "Helmets block your vision,"

"I hope you're right," he sighed. "Just beat him into a pulp. Then we can leave,"

"Oh hell no," she donned a light-weight chain mail, the kind that could not withstand a spear's thrust, but allowed quick mobility. "I'll be sure to do more than that,"

"Then that pompous jerk will be on our asses again," Jarvan glared at her. "Just knock him out cold, and we can leave this godforsaken place,"

The Rakkor village was located at the foot of Mount Targon, where the temperature drops as one climbs further up the summit. A village, it was called, yet it was filled with massive stone buildings and houses; strong, intricately sculpted pillars that were carved with the names of the Rakkor heroes. Around the village, there were crests of the Iron Solari carved into pillars and stone huts, where the Rakkor dwelled. Yet, one of the most significant structures in the village, was its fighting arena, where blood of many heroes had marked its floor.

Situated in the heart of the village, the arena was a circular, ringed area that was dug out of the ground centuries ago. Steps were carved into the slopes for the audience to sit and watch the battles, and beyond the pit was the magical stone wall of Mount Targon where a powerful relic resided, the Face of the Mountain, known to keep the magnificence and the strength of the village going for eternity.

And today, Shyvana would fight in the arena, against the paragon of the Rakkor - Pantheon. A hero who was the protector of the Sun Warrior herself, and had won countless battles leading his own troops.

"Don't screw this up," Jarvan warned again. The portcullis to the arena slid upwards, signaling the beginning of the battle. Shyvana simply rolled her eyes at him and walked to the centre of the arena.

Pantheon strode forward as well, having donned a bronze breastplate and similar helmet, greaves and vambraces. His red cape flowed behind him, floating in the wind as he faced the Half-Dragon. Despite Shyvana's menacing glare and dancing flames around her gauntlets, Pantheon was not intimidated by the sight of it.

"What if she loses?" August, who sat in the corner of the chamber asked. Jarvan's other men were watching the battle as well, curious of the Rakkor's arts of war. "She would bring shame upon you, prince,"

"That is if she loses. She might win, you never know," Jarvan's eyes were fixed on Pantheon and Shyvana. August snorted, and Jarvan chose to ignore him.

The sound of spears rapping against the ground silenced the amassing crowd. Jagen had his spear held between him, and with a loud and thunderous voice, he spoke.

"People of Rakkor! Bear witness to the battle between the Artisan of War, Pantheon!" the crowd around them roared with madness, cheering and screaming and wailing for blood. "And the Half-Dragon!" and they went into a frenzy, standing up and throwing their fists in the air, some looking angry and some pointing an accusing finger at her. Shyvana ignored them, standing proudly with her eyes fixed on Pantheon's.

"People are angry," Alfie noticed. "Is it because we hinder their rites?"

"No," Jarvan whispered to no one in particular. "They are angry at the sight of her. A half-dragon. She belonged to neither race, and they think she should be exterminated,"

"Today, blood will be spilled!" Jagen bellowed. "Today, the battle will not end, until a victor emerges. It will continue, until one of them falls, and the other remains standing! It will be a battle to the death!"

"What the fuck?!" Jarvan's eyes shot to Jagen. They weren't told of this. It wasn't meant to be like this.

Jarvan sprinted towards Jagen, slamming into guards as they held him back. His eyes were crazed and murderous, his hands tried to claw for Jagen. "You didn't say one of them have to die!"

Jagen looked at him coolly. "The Rakkor always win, and they only die if they lose. You barged into our business for no solid reason, _prince,_" he spat the last word.

"I don't give a shit about your business!" Jarvan roared. He looked from Jagen to Shyvana frantically, hoping that Shyvana would agree to back away from the fight. However, Shyvana remained persistent, having made up her mind. "_Shyvana!_ It's not worth it! Yield!"

Shyvana glared at him incredulously. "It's not like you have a choice, prince," she yelled back. "I have nothing to lose. If I lose to a mere human like him, it proves me an unworthy opponent for the drake. I will win, or die," her focus returned to Pantheon again, whose face was hard as stone.

"Damn it!" Jarvan cursed and shot an angry glare at Jagen. Jagen pretended not to notice, his gaze fixed on the battle that was about to begin.

August stood forward, his eyes staring ahead at the fight. "You really care about her, prince?" his voice was cold and emotionless, and Jarvan could not tell if he was disgusted or curious about his concern for the half-dragon.

"It's just…" he cleared his throat awkwardly. "She's with us, it would be a shame to lose her before we know the whereabouts of the drake,"

August nodded, and said nothing.

_Is it true, though?_ Jarvan rubbed his palm against his thigh, feeling uneasy with what he felt within. Deep inside, he knew what he said to August wasn't exactly the truth, and what he felt underneath frightened him so much that he denied it.

True, the half-dragon was the most extraordinary creature he had ever met, but he refused to admit that he held any true feelings for her.

_I am a prince, _he reminded himself mentally. _I do not fall for creatures like her. A prince does not marry for love. He marries for duty, for the sake of his country. For the sake of the Lightshields. _

_So, why does her well-being concern me? _

Before he could think of an answer, a loud, resounding trumpet roared in the air.

* * *

Just as the trumpet was blown, Pantheon and Shyvana dashed forward, weapons raised and eyes fixed on each other.

Pantheon had his shield up protecting his torso, just as Shyvana held up the larger gauntlet in a defensive stance. With an alarming speed, both attempted a thrust at their necks. Steel met steel, and sparks flew everywhere.

Shyvana grunted as she stepped backwards, putting distance between them for the next attack. Pantheon swept his spear low, trying to slice her feet to render her immobile. Where she lacked in strength, however, she excelled in speed. She evaded his sweep gracefully, and countered with an uppercut, which Pantheon quickly blocked with his shield.

The weight of the shield and spear and all his equipment should have depleted his stamina, but Pantheon was relentless. He thrust his spear again, and when it missed he drew back and lunged again, eager to strike a vital point. His muscles worked like a well-oiled machine, quick and efficient, never breaking a sweat.

Shyvana dodged each and every one of his thrusts, looking for an opening to attack. For now, she could still match with Pantheon's monstrous speed, but she knew soon she would begin to tire, and no doubt Pantheon would take the chance to plunge his spear into her neck.

She waited for him to thrust again, and when he did, Shyvana sidestepped and grabbed his spear.

If her opponent was shocked, he did not show it. Shyvana tugged on his spear, expecting him to be pulled forward. But Pantheon held fast, his sandals skidding against the rough sand floors as he pulled back. With a loud grunt, he pulled his spear roughly, pulling Shyvana towards him.

She stumbled forward as her arms flailed frantically, trying to regain her footing. Pantheon charged forward and slammed his shield into her shoulder, throwing her backwards. He held his spear above his head, and brought it down upon her head.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, filled with bloodlust and an insatiable hunger for blood.

Shyvana fell on her rear, but noticed the glint of the spear. She laid flat on her back and threw her legs over her head, performing a backflip just as the spear ran deep into the floor of the arena. Pantheon obviously did not expect this, and as he tried to pull out his spear, Shyvana charged forward with a loud battle cry.

Pantheon let go of his spear and pushed his shield forward. Shyvana's gauntlets bounced against his shield harmlessly. Nonetheless, she followed up with a flurry of jabs and punches to his head and torso, forcing Pantheon backwards as he continued to block her blows with his shield. Shyvana couldn't help but grin triumphantly.

"Is this the best you could do?" she roared, throwing a punch forward blindly. She threw her fist a little too far, but that was enough for Pantheon to draw his shield backwards and slam it against her jaw, the sound of snapping bone ringing in the air.

The crowd cheered again.

_Fuck, _Shyvana staggered backwards and rubbed her jaw. With a flick of her wrist she set her broken jaw back into place, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. Pantheon had already pulled out his spear, moving into position for his next attack.

"Arrogance brings doom, half-dragon," he spoke. His voice was cold and harsh. "You should have put on a helmet,"

In her mind, she could almost imagine Jarvan wagging a finger at her with that stupid, smug grin of his, saying '_I told you so_'.

Annoyed, she let fire run around her gauntlets, waving it around in a taunting manner. The dust around the arena rose, responding to the swirling heat around her.

"Getting serious, are we?" he said. And Shyvana swore she could see his lips flicker, showing the hint of a smile.

"Isn't this what you want? To fight a dragon?"

"Let's begin, then!" he charged forward, his spear aiming for her neck.

Shyvana roared, and raised her right gauntlet. Fire danced around her arm dangerously, and left a trail of sizzling air behind as she brought it down onto the spear. The tip of his spear went red-hot instantly where her burning gauntlet had struck it, and with the help of her flames she was able to throw her left fist forward. It thumped harmlessly against his shield, but she could tell that his shield was heating up.

She could tell that Pantheon noticed a sudden change in speed and strength of his opponent. But instead of feeling intimidated, Pantheon felt a rush of excitement. He twirled his spear above his head, swinging in quick circles that it seemed almost invisible. She felt fire dancing around her feet, and gracefully she dodged his spear.

Now Pantheon seemed crazed. His thrusts were faster and stronger, and each time it whistled past her ear, Shyvana could feel the slight tremble of the air at the tip of her ear. Each strike was swift and precise, and Shyvana urged her flames to burn hotter, feeling uneasy on how such a man could crave for a battle this much.

The half-dragon hopped before executing a downward punch, aiming for his helmet. Pantheon quickly blocked it with his shield, and lashed out his spear with lightning speed. Shyvana reared back and grunted, dodging left to right as he thrust from behind his shield. The spear moved so quickly that she couldn't see it, and there were a couple of times when he nearly speared her heart.

At the last strike, Shyvana ducked. The spear went past her above her head, and Pantheon was thrown forward by his own momentum, leaving his gut exposed. Shyvana saw her chance, and like a tiger, she pounced.

Both her gauntlets dug into Pantheon's breastplate, leaving deep gouges in it. Her flames burnt intensely, and she channeled the heat into the bronze breastplate. Pantheon howled in pain as he felt his skin react to the heat, at the same time pushed backwards by the half-dragon and his reflexes to back away from her immediately. Instinctively, he brought down the butt of the spear upon her head, which Shyvana quickly retreated from her assault.

Just as Shyvana stepped back, Pantheon lashed out again. He threw his spear towards her, swift and sure like a thunder strike. It sailed so quickly in the air that by the time Shyvana could evade, the spear had already whistled past her cheek, leaving a deep gash across it.

She was both shocked and amused. "You just threw your only weapon away. Desperate, aren't you?"

Pantheon grinned. "And so you think," Without hesitation, he sprinted towards the half-dragon with his shield forward, attempting to slam her head-on.

Shyvana summoned her flames around her feet, and mustering all her strength, she threw a fist towards her oncoming opponent. Sparks flew and flames spread everywhere when they both collided, and surprisingly, Shyvana found herself being pushed back by the Rakkor.

Leaving her no choice, she rolled to the side, watching as Pantheon barreled past her and charged towards his spear. Quickly, he picked up his spear, twirling it around with a taunting manner.

"Let's end this, half-dragon," Pantheon's voice boomed throughout the arena intentionally. "It's either you, or I,"

Shyvana's eyes narrowed as she watched him from the other side of the arena, her gauntlets ready in an offensive stance. She said nothing, and waited for his next strike.

Pantheon held his spear in front of him, with his shield in the middle. His head was hung low, and for once, it seemed as though he was praying, perhaps asking for the blessings of his gods. Shyvana found this gesture queer and suspicious, raising her gauntlets for his next move.

Without warning, Pantheon crouched low. And he leapt.

The crowd had gone silent at this point, watching as Pantheon sailed gracefully into the air, his spear held above his head. He flipped in the air thrice, his red cape billowing behind him like a proud flag. His helmet caught the glimmer of the rays of the sun, and there was a brief moment when his bulk covered the sun, casting a shadow over the arena.

Even Shyvana watched with her mouth gaped open in awe. No ordinary man could jump this high.

She was broken from her trance when Pantheon suddenly descended, the spear tip coming down upon her, fast. She stepped backwards quickly just as the spear struck the ground.

Shyvana was about to grin triumphantly, until the arena exploded and quaked violently, taking the grin off her face.

* * *

Just as Pantheon's spear was planted deep into the ground, dust and debris rose rapidly as the ground shook. The impact threw Jarvan and his men off balance, and they held onto the railings for dear life. A huge cloud of dust and sand had obscured their view, and neither warriors could be seen.

The audience erupted with cheers and wails and screams, applauding for Pantheon's spectacular move.

"She can't have survived that," Lance, ever the pessimistic, muttered to the prince.

Alfie was amazed. "The Rakkor… They really are something,"

They all murmured in agreement, whereas Jarvan looked on with his brows furrowed. He thought he saw something within the thick mist of debris, a huge figure that was thrice the size of a human.

"No," Jarvan whispered to himself. "This isn't over,"

As though answering him, a loud screech sounded in the arena. The cheers and applause died instantly, and even from afar Jarvan could see the smiles being wiped off the Rakkor's faces.

A bright column of flames shot skywards, breaking the fog of dust. The fire dispersed and exploded, showering the arena with heat. Just then, a large blue-grey dragon emerged from the cloud of flames, her wings pumping as she roared savagely.

All thought that Pantheon had been roasted to a crisp by the dragon, until they gasped in astonishment at the sight of the smaller figure on her back. A long shaft was planted into her back, yet it seemed to anger her and not hurt her.

Pantheon climbed onto Shyvana's back, holding on for dear life as Shyvana propelled herself higher and higher, swerving left and right to get him off her. She roared and screamed and screeched, her wings pumping harder and harder until she suddenly tucked them into her sides for a quick descent.

He could have been thrown off had he not grabbed his spear. The spear that was lodged deep in her hide slid out, and Pantheon gripped her crest tightly as he swung the spear around, this time aiming it at her neck.

Shyvana, however, was oblivious to the threat. She was still busy trying to get Pantheon off her.

Jarvan gripped the railings tightly, hoping that Shyvana could turn the tables. Yet the chances were slim.

Pantheon thrust his spear, just as a column of bright, warm light that came from nowhere engulfed them both. Both were blinded by the brightness of it, and Pantheon's spear missed by an inch. Shyvana lost her bearings as her wings flailed around frantically, trying to block out the light, which sent both of them crashing to the ground.

Everyone in the arena gasped. Even Jagen's eyes were widened with shock.

"Stop this pointless fight, Jagen," a powerful female voice sounded from the other side of the arena. "On my behest," She emerged and faced Jagen. Although a head shorter than him, Jarvan could tell that this woman was well-respected among the Rakkor tribe.

The woman wore golden armor from neck to toe that was polished until it reflected its surroundings, catching the brilliance of the sunlight. She held a large ornate shield in one hand and a double-edged golden sword in another. There may be no crown upon her mane of brown hair, but it was blatant to all that she had more power than Jagen, leader of Kor he may be.

Jagen promptly went down on one knee, his spear placed on the ground before him as a sign of respect. Jarvan noticed that the audience had stood and knelt as well, the duel forgotten. The woman looked upon Jagen with an irritated glare.

"Care to tell me what the ruckus is all about?" she gestured to the tangle of limbs in the middle of the arena. Shyvana had shrunk to her human form, and she still laid dazed underneath Pantheon, who rubbed his eyes furiously.

"They interrupted a warriors' test, Your Radiance," Jagen answered. "By law and tradition, it is punishable by death,"

"_Who _interrupted?"

Jagen was quiet for a long while before answering. "The prince of Demacia and his company. He has a half-dragon,"

"I'm not his fucking _property,_" Shyvana protested. Her words were a slur, but it was still loud enough for them to hear.

If the woman heard her she chose to ignore her. "It seems to me you're just trying to pick a fight, Jagen. You were intrigued by the half-dragon, and you wished to have her head planted on the walls of your home. Prove me wrong,"

Jagen looked up defiantly. "These people interrupted our rites. By law and tradition –"

"By law and tradition, a _Rakkor _who interrupts another's battle to prove his worth is punishable by death," she retorted. "Do these people look like Rakkor to you? Foreigners couldn't have known our traditions. And that is the prince of Demacia you're crossing with. Do you wish to start a war?"

"The Rakkor live for war, and will die for war –"

"–Only if we are threatened and are forced to defend our tribe, not to spark a war for the fun of it. The Demacians love their prince like the Rakkor love the sun. Do you think they will let us off this easily if harm was to fall on the prince? What will happen to our tribe's reputation?"

Jagen was silent and looked down in shame. "Forgive me, Your Radiance. They will be released at once," he looked at the prince, though there was no contempt or fury in his gaze. "With fresh supplies for their journey,"

Jarvan didn't bother to hide his surprise.

The woman turned back and approached Jarvan. Where there was fierceness and fury on her face earlier was now replaced by a warm smile as radiant as the sun. "Apologies, Prince Jarvan. You must have been treated poorly,"

Jarvan frowned. "Well, I wasn't the one being treated poorly. My comrade was nearly killed,"

The woman smiled sadly. "For your comrade, I'm sorry as well. I have had refreshments prepared for you and your company, as a form of apology. You and your men are welcomed to stay on Mount Targon for today. Be my guest,"

"I'm pretty sure my half-dragon friend over there," he looked briefly at Shyvana, who was still rolling around muttering gibberish with Pantheon beside her, still blinded by the bright light earlier. "Isn't well-liked by the people here. I don't think it's wise if we stay here,"

"Not here," she laughed heartily. "What I mean was _on_ Mount Targon, the sanctuary of the Solari. No men will dare harm you there, I promise,"

"The higher order of the Rakkor who prayed to the sun?" Jarvan spoke with wonder. "And you are one of them?"

"Well, kind of," she smiled. "The mules have been prepared for the ride to the summit. We can head out anytime soon. I suppose your friend needs help," she glanced at Shyvana and Pantheon, who were now sitting up, hands groping blindly ahead of them. "I must have used too much of the sun's energy, they still can't see,"

"You knew my name, and you did not tell me yours," Jarvan said.

"Oh, of course. Where are my manners?" she held out a hand in warm greeting. The prince shook it gently, surprised with the warmth of her hand. "My name's Leona, and I am known among my tribe as the Radiant Dawn, or the Chosen of the Sun as they like to call me," she blushed slightly, then her face turned serious. "There is much to discuss, prince. It's best if we move out now,"

"What is there to discuss?" Jarvan and his men followed Leona as she headed towards the foot of Mount Targon. The people in the arena had begun to disperse, ushered by the other soldiers. A few others helped Shyvana and Pantheon to their feet.

Leona did not turn back. She hastened her pace. "Things that you, as the Crown Prince of Demacia, should know. And I am curious about your presence at the Great Barrier,"

They continued their walk in silence then, and rode the mules provided up the steep slopes of Mount Targon.

* * *

Near the peak of Mount Targon, the air was chilly and the cold winds beat against the snow covered mountain top. Yet, in the temple, the guests barely felt the chill.

Once inside the Solari temple, Leona had requested for Jarvan and Shyvana's presence to the dining hall. Jarvan's men were offered meat and mead with their prince as well, but they knew that the prince's business with the Rakkor warrior was none of their concern, and they agreed to break bread with the Solari priests in the mess halls, leaving the half-dragon and the prince to dine with Leona.

Shyvana had thought of joining the men, but the animosity of some of the men, especially August, towards her irked her terribly. And the last thing she wanted was to be stared like a freak by the old religious Solari priests in the mess halls. At least the prince wouldn't look at her with fear or disdain.

When entering the dining hall, which was a chamber reserved for feasts and the privileged ones, Jarvan did not expect it to be so demure. The hall was spacious, with four large statues of Rakkor warriors carved into the corners of the marble walls. Where he expected a cut-glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, was instead a huge intricately shaped sundial, with a beautiful mural of the golden sun painted upon the ceiling. What gave light to the chamber were the scones of fire planted upon the walls, and the lighted candles on the dais of each statue.

And in the middle was a long, dark-coloured teak table, with food already prepared and served. Jarvan thought a figure as revered as Leona herself would be served with roasted suckling pigs and expensive quail eggs and other delicacies. Instead, on the table was a decent course of pork porridge and grilled freshwater trout, served with buttered bread and pickled fruits, and a pitcher of rich, red wine.

And so they dined, Jarvan careful with his fork and spoon like a royalty would, once and twice eying Shyvana when she carved a few slices of the trout for herself.

"I apologize if the meal is not up to your standards," Leona smiled at him, taking a sip from her goblet. "We live alone by the blessings of the Sun God, and could only reap what we sow. I do not doubt that dishes such as these were fit for commoners back in Demacia,"

"It's nothing," Jarvan answered politely. "I am far from home, and meals such as these are a blessing for me. You have no idea how hard is it to hunt for game in the Great Barrier,"

"That's because you suck at hunting," Shyvana snorted, earning a chuckle from Leona and an angry glare from Jarvan.

"And the bold half-dragon," Leona lifted her goblet in admiration. "I have seen much in the Great Barrier, but a creation from the union of a human and a dragon… You are truly a wonder,"

Shyvana lifted her eyebrows and smirked. "If only more people were like you. Your tribe is as formidable and strong as my father said,"

"Did Shyvana, the half-dragon just make a compliment?" Jarvan laughed. Shyvana shot him an irritated glare, which he pretended not to notice. "Anyway, Leona. You mentioned earlier you had something of importance to tell me,"

"Yes," she lifted a spoonful of porridge to her mouth. "Have you heard about the unease in Kalamanda?"

The prince frowned. "The small town known for its rich minerals and ore? I'm afraid not. But I do remember that my father was trying to strike a bargain with the Mayor, seeking for a trading deal for the town's minerals. Demacia even sent their own miners to the town. Is something amiss?"

"The mine collapsed two months ago," Leona's tone was dead serious. "Trapping several Demacians within. Charges were raised against Noxus. I've heard nothing but bits and pieces, except that before the collapse Garen Crownguard and Katarina Du Couteau represent their states to try to encourage a deal with Kalamanda,"

Jarvan's lips curled in disgust at the name of the country that Demacia had had feuds with since the first Lightshield ascended to the throne, and even more so at the mention of the notorious red-haired assassin, the daughter of Marcus Du Couteau. He took a few gulps of wine, urging Leona to continue.

"The collapse was believed to be manmade. I am not familiar with the details, but I was told that tension had already begun long before the collapse. There had been riots, and Garen and Katarina stopped the skirmishes, but the conflict between the states was too strong. There were other complications as well, of a man that claimed that he was under the order of Demacia to bombard the mine –"

"Demacia would never do that," Jarvan shook his head with disapproval.

"-to make it seem like Noxus was at fault. Jericho Swain was said to head out to Kalamanda, as well as your father, King Jarvan III," Leona frowned. "Even Kalamanda had withdrawn the contract they were supposed to sign with Demacia, until the conflict is resolved,"

"Such vile and cunning scheme. Only Noxus is capable of something like this. They want a trade with Kalamanda as well," his tone became furious. "No doubt _Swain _would do all he can to smear mud upon the name of Demacia,"

Even Shyvana, who was enjoying a buttered bread and was reaching for a second helping, looked up in shock at Jarvan's venomous tone. His face was distorted in fury, glaring at Leona.

Leona was not intimidated by his gaze. "I do not know who is at fault, Noxus or Demacia. As I said, I don't know the full story. What I do know is that if neither city-states admit their mistake, this could grow into a full-blown war. And Kalamanda will be in the middle of it,"

Jarvan said nothing.

"Even your father and Swain have made their appearances. And there are rumours that General Boram Darkwill will head out to Kalamanda soon. If a war breaks out, all the lives in Kalamanda would perish,"

"And if the war comes, the Rakkor will intervene?"

Leona laid down her goblet. "Don't take this the wrong way. The Rakkor takes no part in other states' wars. We ally with no one, and only fight if provoked. Unless this war threatens our tribe, we will not raise our weapons for no reason,"

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because you are the Crown Prince of Demacia. You are supposed to be there in your father's stead. Instead, you've gone missing for more than two years. And it seems you have a half-dragon in your company," she looked at Shyvana.

"I am on an important quest," Jarvan looked away, unable to look her in the eye.

"A quest that is more important than your country's welfare?"

Jarvan opened his mouth to answer, before Shyvana cut in.

"He's on a quest to better himself," she said. "He's learning how to rule, how to serve his country as a proper prince, how to correct his mistakes. And we're on our way to slay a drake, a creature that has tormented towns and cities for several years. He's doing something good and crucial for humanity,"

Jarvan was dumbfounded by her praise. And what she said appeared to peak Leona's interest. Her eyebrow raised in question, before Shyvana continued.

"That drake was after me, and he slew my father. I thought of going after him, then I met Jarvan, who offered to help me on my quest. He made me a promise," she looked Jarvan in the eye, daring him to deny it. "He said a prince must keep his promises, or else the people won't follow him. And if he ever keeps his word, I'll be the witness of that,"

Jarvan cleared his throat uncomfortably. He could sense the threat in Shyvana's words. _If you lie to me, I will tear you to pieces. _

"The drake," Leona tapped her chin, her eyes somewhere else in deep thought. "Was it the black one?"

Both Jarvan and Shyvana were shocked, and threw each other a hopeful glance. "Have you seen him?"

"We saw a black dragon flying north just two days ago. He flew slowly, as though he was wounded. Since he was flying away from Mount Targon, I suppose he posed no threat, so we ignored it. And now that you mentioned it…"

"North," Shyvana muttered. "He's heading to the Ironspike Mountains,"

Jarvan frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

"The mountain ranges there are cold, suitable for hibernation. The drake would stay there to recover. Many dragons have made temporary lairs in the Ironspike Mountains,"

"That would mean we have to cross Noxus to get there," Jarvan's groaned. "It's too dangerous,"

"And with the turmoil in Kalamanda, Noxus must have bolstered their forces. There's a huge risk that you will be captured if you cross the Noxian land," Leona added.

"We can't take the road up to Marshes of Kaladoun as well," Jarvan shook his head sadly. "Kalamanda is somewhere near there, and we would risk being found by either Demacia or Noxus,"

"You can go there by sea," Leona suggested. Jarvan and Shyvana only looked at her quizzically. She sighed and laid a map of Valoran in the middle of the table. "Take the route down Mogron Pass into Shurima Desert, then head east along the Great Barrier to the southern Noxian harbor, then take a passage and head north by Guardian's Sea, to the northern Noxian harbor. Both harbors are situated at the Noxian borders, thus smaller risks in getting caught. Disguise yourself well, though,"

Shyvana laid a finger on the map, the faint wording reading 'Mogron Pass'. "Can't we head north of Mogron Pass directly? We wouldn't have to cross the desert, and it would be faster,"

"If you do so, you'll be walking on Noxian land. In case you don't know, some of us have spotted Noxians near the Great Barrier occasionally, for what reason I'm not sure. And they seemed to be assassins," Leona explained, and Jarvan nodded in agreement.

"However," Leona ran a finger down Mogron Pass, stopping at a huge span of land where it was painted gold. "It is easy to lose your way in the Shuriman Desert. And rumour has it that the Xer'Sai had claimed their territory further north, terrorizing merchants on their way,"

"Xer'Sai?" Shyvana's lips curled in distaste. "Those sand creatures that swim beneath the sands?"

Jarvan crossed his arms. "I have not seen one, but it is said that in a swarm, they can be deadly,"

"True," Leona nodded. "And so, I have a friend who can lead you through the desert safely, that is if the sandstorms are not strong. Still, he's a frequent traveler in the desert, and I met him once on a chance encounter. He's surefooted and able, surely he can help you on your way east. If I ask him for a favor, he will be here tomorrow at first light. You're in a hurry for your quest, aren't you?"

Jarvan couldn't help but smile at her generosity. "Thank you, Leona," he stood and offered her a hand. She smiled and shook it. "Pray tell, who might he be?"

"It's not a question of who he is," Leona laughed. "But _what _he is,"

* * *

**Now, if you've read the Journal of Justice, you would find a few changes in the Kalamanda Conflict I described here. Believe me, it's all part of the plot, and if I explain any further I would spoil the story. Let me know if you have any questions.**

**There will be more champions making their appearance in the chapters to come. Also, updates will be less frequent. School has started, and I've got coursework and all kinds of stuff. I'm sorry for that. **

**Let me know if you liked this chapter, whether the battle scene is good enough, or anything else. Once again, reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Lone Ranger

**Chapter 9 : The Lone Ranger**

The night was cold and harsh, and most of the inhabitants in the temple had retired to bed. Except Shyvana, who perched on the ledge of an opened window out in the halls, finding solace in the howls and wails of the cold biting wind. From there she could catch a clear view of other smaller mountaintops of the Great Barrier, the Rakkor village at the foot of the mountain which was so tiny, she could simply blot it out with her thumb.

It was rare moments like this where she could be alone to her thoughts, letting them drift to all that had happened for the past few days. Her thoughts kept circling around the Demacian prince, her curiosity as in why the prince did not fear her even when she threatened him, whereas his men quivered at the sight of her.

She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts of the prince, and lifted a skin of watered wine to her lips. Leona had kindly given them each a skin of mulled, watered wine for the cold. Though Shyvana had the heat to keep herself warm, she appreciated her offer.

"Mind if I share your company?" a voice sounded behind her, soft yet strong. She did not have to turn back to see whom it belonged to.

"Why not?" she crept to the side, allowing him space to sit down. "Did the cold bother you?" she looked at Jarvan when he finally sat down, his face full of creases and furrows, a telltale sign of worries on his mind.

"No," he shook his head.

"Then?"

He did not answer her. Instead, he took a quick swig from his own skin, looking into the distant horizon. Shyvana could tell that something was bothering him, but she said nothing about it.

"What Leona said earlier…," he sighed. "It disturbs me,"

"About the unease in Kalamanda?" Shyvana shrugged. "There's nothing you can do about it. You can't just walk into Kalamanda and expect everything to be fine. Besides, you don't know about the full story, as Leona said,"

"But my people need me,"

"If you realized that earlier, you wouldn't even be in the Great Barrier on that dumb quest of yours," she sneered.

Jarvan whined. "It wasn't dumb, I learnt a lot from it. I am stronger than before, and I could lead my men better into battle. There's so much to learn about the world outside, and I'm no longer that child that craved for glory,"

"True, and how many of your company died because of your quest?"

Jarvan's mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say. In the end, he gave an exasperated sigh and yielded. His shoulders slumped. "I'm really a horrible leader, am I not?"

"Don't ask me," Shyvana chuckled. "Perhaps now you are different. I don't know,"

"And you are no different from the first time I met you," Jarvan perched on the ledge, his hand lifting his skin of wine to his lips. He drank greedily. "Wherever and whenever you are, you're always wearing those gauntlets,"

Shyvana looked down to her pair of rusty gauntlets, her only memory of Bel'Zhun still vivid on her mind. It reminded her of the awe and wonder she had felt when she first laid eyes upon this piece of armor, and also pain from the lies and betrayal of the triplets whom she had trusted so much.

And the haunting sound of a familiar young man echoed in her ears. _Everywhere you go, death follows. _

"You know, we're safe for now," she jolted, Jarvan's deep voice bringing her back from her unpleasant memories. "You can take them off, no one's going to try and kill us,"

She remembered the vow she had made to herself, to her father. For vengeance. "No. The day I take them off is the day I slew the drake. They will remind me of my vengeance,"

Jarvan puffed his cheeks, which were already flushed from the cold. "Well, I guess you'll be wearing them for a very long time. And tomorrow we're travelling through the desert. God knows how far it would be. Don't say I didn't warn you,"

She only raised her chin defiantly. "I have the blood of the dragon, the desert heat will not bother me,"

"Hopefully," that was all he said.

They were silent for a long while, drinking from their skins while listening to the distant howl of the winds of winter upon Mount Targon. Shyvana looked up to the skies and searched for the constellations that her father had told her so long ago. What was it? The Great Caretaker?

"Tell me about your mother," the question was so sudden that Shyvana was taken aback. When she looked to her side, she could see Jarvan's eyes twinkling with curiosity. No one had ever asked about her mother, sometimes even her father tried to avoid the conversation about her mother, knowing that it always upsets her.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know, I only know that your father is a dragon. Your mother must be human," Jarvan shrugged. "Surely your father had spoken of her? Even if you had never met her?"

She should have snapped at him and told him to mind his own business, that he shouldn't poke his nose into everyone's matters. But Shyvana did not. The wine and the cold atmosphere had made her feel calm and at peace, and for the first time since her father's demise, Shyvana felt no rage. Her heart, however, gnawed with guilt and sadness, thinking of how she had been nothing but a burden to her parents, forcing her mother to give up on her.

Jarvan must have seen the look on her face, for he too had fallen silent.

"I know my mother, my father is very fond of her, I know," she said sadly. "But I do not wish to talk about it. Perhaps another day,"

"Perhaps,"

"What about you?" the question was out of her mouth before she thought about it. "I'm sure the king and queen pampers their little prince very much,"

Jarvan chuckled. To her, it sounded rich and genuine and warm, not tensed or stressful. "When I was a child, I was a spoilt brat. I skipped lessons and purposely went to the yard to spar with the kitchen boys, disguising myself as a dirty stable boy. I would carry a wooden sword and play with them, and I'll have to run away whenever I see a knight passing by,"

Shyvana laughed. "Typical prince,"

His eyes were lost somewhere in the distance, a permanent smile imprinted upon his face. "Yes, I was quite a mischief. And my tutors would end up complaining to my Queen mother. My mother would strut into the yard, lift me by my collar and carry me back to my chambers for my lessons. On the way, she would be admonishing me for my behaviour. But I would be busy giggling at the shocked faces of those kitchen boys whenever they saw the queen.

"But on every weekend, my mother would go to this street in the Commons, and bring a sack of my favourite candies back to the palace. At noon, she would bring me to the Royal Gardens, with me sitting on her lap on the edge of the fountain, chewing the candies while she told stories of the brave Valor Knights, and the courageous deeds of my ancestors.

"I remember having nightmares quite often when I was a kid. Nightmares about this large, six-eyed raven. Its huge, monstrous beak tore strips of flesh away from me as I ran. And there was this cadaverous soldier with a crown attached to his jaw. His flesh was pale and rotting, and his dead, red eyes never left me wherever I went. Those dreams were so vivid, I always woke up thrashing and screaming, the maids forced to rouse my parents.

"It was always my mother who came. She would quickly draw me into a hug, humming a sweet melody and running her hand along my back. Then my screams would stop, and she would sing me a song to lure me to sleep. It always worked,"

Shyvana's eyes shone with sympathy. "Then?"

"Then I was 12. And I had to be enrolled into the Demacian military for several years. It was rough training, and not even my parents were allowed to see me for that period. Yet when I left the palace, my mother wasn't there to bid me farewell," his eyes glittered with sadness. "My father is a busy man. Being a king carries a heavy burden. The only time I ever see or talk to him was during dinner, and even so, the only thing he ever talks about is _politics,_"

"I see," she mumbled, and took a quick swig of wine. "And after you left the military?"

Jarvan's mouth opened for an answer, then he thought better of it. Like her, he said, "A tale for another time. We will need more wine for that. And perhaps you will tell me about your mother,"

She scoffed. "That is if you survive the journey tomorrow,"

"I surely will," he said proudly. "Leona said her _friend _would be here at first light. And that he would gladly help us. I can't help but feel curious about this… friend of hers,"

Shyvana remembered when Jarvan had asked Leona to describe the friend whom she had mentioned, which she only laughed. _You'll never believe it until you see him, _which was all she said.

"Well, whatever he is," Shyvana whispered. "It can't be weirder that a half-dragon,"

* * *

Before the sun rose, Jarvan and his men had already gathered at the mess halls, breaking their fast. Shyvana sat at the corner of the table, isolated from them, taking small bites from the wheatcakes set before her. She had asked for wine, but the Solari priests only told her that it was too early to serve wine.

_Bullshit,_ Shyvana fumed, sipping a mug of boiled lemon water. _It's never too early for wine. _Her eyes were drooping, resulting from the lack of sleep last night.

"Good morning, prince,"

All heads turned to the entrance of the mess halls. Leona stood at the entrance donning her golden armor, though her shield and blade were nowhere to be seen. Walking behind her was the Artisan of War, his shield held aloft and his spear in the other hand, following her wherever she went like the protector he was. His face, as usual, was concealed by his helmet. Only his cold, hard stare could be seen.

Jarvan stood from the bench, retrieving his lance that was leaning against it. "Good morning, Leona. We're ready,"

"Very well," Leona nodded, before looking at Shyvana, smiling warmly. Shyvana only waved tiredly, and threw a curious glance at Pantheon behind her.

_Well, they are a very good match, _she mused.

"So," Jarvan cleared his throat. "This friend of yours…"

"Right, he's already here," Leona gestured behind the men, and they all turned their heads.

The candles only served to illuminate the hall dimly, yet at the end of the hall was a large shadow casted along the wall, close to twelve-feet tall. The shadow shifted as the figure moved, the shape of it clearly indicating that it wasn't human. It seemed hunched over, and there seemed to be huge spikes protruding from its body.

Shyvana gulped. She had no idea what this thing could be, and it seemed terrifying, even to her.

Until a small shape emerged from the corner of the hall, hobbling along as it fell into their line of sight.

Jarvan's jaw dropped open in disbelief. Shyvana stared, confused.

Before them was a small figure resembling an animal, with a large shell with protruding spikes on its back. Its eyes were cool and blank, as though it didn't feel bothered being the centre of attraction. Its clawed, scaly green arms hung by its side, staring at them all with wide eyes. Its lips were pursed in a thin line, betraying no emotions.

This creature was probably not even half as tall as Shyvana.

"May I present to you the Armordillo, Rammus," Leona introduced, before sighing. "Although I must warn you, he doesn't talk… much,"

Rammus' red eyes blinked once, twice. He turned away and went to Shyvana's table, climbing up the bench and reaching for a wheatcake. He tossed the whole cake into his mouth, before reaching for another one.

Jarvan still looked at Rammus with shock. "And he…"

"Crossed the Shurima Desert, yes," Leona said. "Don't be put down by his size, he can be a wonderful ally when crossing the desert. He can trudge through the sandstorm on his own like it was nothing. Right, Rammus?"

Rammus said nothing, his hand grabbing another wheatcake.

"It's best that you start moving now, prince," Leona's tone turned serious. "The winds are still today, and perhaps there may be no sandstorm. The farther you are away from the desert, the better,"

"Aye. I thank you for your hospitality, Leona," Jarvan held her hand to his lips as he kissed her knuckles as a polite gesture, though he could feel Pantheon's hard stare. Leona only giggled, and curtsied.

"Such politeness is rare in Mount Targon, you're too kind. And I have a gift for you," she looked at Pantheon and nodded. Pantheon stepped forward and held out a wooden box in one hand, carved with intricate symbols and signs. She opened the wooden box, revealing a small pendant held by a golden chain.

"The Locket of the Iron Solari," Leona held Jarvan's hand and pressed the item into his palm. "Wear this when you traverse the desert. You never know when you might need it, but I hope you don't,"

Jarvan nodded, holding the locket tightly.

"Seriously," Shyvana watched incredulously as Rammus grabbed another wheatcake, eating it hungrily. "How much does he eat?"

"Food source in the desert is scarce. That's why he eats a lot before every journey,"

"But that's just-" Rammus reached out and took the wheatcake in her hand. "Hey, that's mine!"

"I don't have much confidence in that friend of yours," Jarvan admitted. His men had started securing their armor and preparing to move out. "But I suppose I don't have a choice. And I trust you,"

"With the growing conflict between Noxus and Demacia, you need all the help you can get," Leona whispered, making sure that only Jarvan heard her. Shyvana was still glaring at Rammus, holding the last half-bitten wheatcake away from him. "After you have helped the half-dragon complete her quest, surely you will return home?"

"I'm not sure if I even have a home anymore. I wasn't there when my father needed me the most,"

Leona said nothing.

"It's better that we leave now," he told Leona and his men. "I cannot thank you enough. If the Rakkor needs any help in the future, I'll make sure Demacia lends a hand,"

She smiled radiantly, though to Jarvan it looked a little sad. "That is if you return to Demacia," she turned to prepare to leave the hall, with Pantheon following her. Until she stopped and turned to Jarvan again. "Oh, Jarvan?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever meet a Xer'Sai in the desert, run as fast as you can,"

* * *

There had been several times when Jarvan and his men travelled through the desert. Even so, he didn't remember the sun being so merciless, and it had been a few hours since they had walked across the desert, with the small creature ahead of them as their guide.

Then he remembered that all the times he had entered Shurima was to hunt down the Ralsiji for their leather hide and raw meat, which usually appeared near the oasis where the sun rarely shone the brightest. Now they were somewhere in the desert where all he could see was the mountains of sands and the cloudless sky, with a large, brilliant yellow orb burning the desert grounds.

_Dammit, _his fingers twitched violently, itching to lift the waterskin hanging from his belt. His hood and scarf covered his face, though the air was still and no dusts were seen floating around.

He turned his gaze to Shyvana, whose hood and linen cloak covered her figure. She seemed fine, the desert heat was obviously nothing to her.

Not only the prince was feeling restless, behind him, the men trudged along with their heads hanging low, having changed their plated armor for boiled leather vests. Their breastplates and pauldrons were collected in a leather sack, hanging behind Kyvan's back. Jarvan could tell that August's mood had grown fouler as well.

"Prince," Alfie walked up, panting heavily. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat. "Where are we even heading? There's nothing here in sight," he looked frantically about his map.

"I have no idea," Jarvan said. "Only Rammus knows,"

"What if it's a trap, prince?"

"Quit being a craven, Alf," Horace reprimanded. "We don't have a choice. But we have a dragon on our side. Nothing to worry about," he lifted his skin and took small sips. "But this water ain't enough, prince. Will the little creature be stopping anytime soon?"

"Shut the fuck up, you both," August snapped. "Water's ain't enough 'cause you been drinking it since we entered this damned hellhole. The sooner we get out of this place, the better,"

"But how soon?" Lance cut in. "I don't like this place, mate. Reeks of danger and savagery. I thought I saw some weird things moving from the corner of my eye, aye. We've never entered the desert this deep before, sire. We ain't prepared,"

"We weren't prepared either when we went into the Great Barrier," August growled. "If anything appears, we just beat the shit out of it. If that little thing shows a threat, we just beat the shit out of it,"

"There's nothing to worry about," Kyvan rumbled, pulling his tower shield along. "As long as we avoid the Sai region,"

"You telling me you believe in that outerbeast crap?" August spat, his tone growing in volume. "A dumb tale told by some Shuriman lunatic?"

"Well, he ain't wrong," Lance countered. "There had been word of missing merchants and mutilated carcasses near the Shurima wastes. No one ever dared entered the Sai region,"

"I don't believe in bedtime horror stories," August scoffed.

"And there's this tale of an undead prince," Alfie muttered. August snorted and Horace raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "They said he woke from an ancient Shuriman tomb with a curse, everything he touched turned into dusts and ashes,"

"Right," Lance mumbled.

Jarvan walked a few paces ahead, leaving his men behind to continue talking about the terrors of the desert. He was already feeling pessimistic due to the heat, he did not need to hear any more superstitious tales about this wretched place.

"Feeling weary, my prince?" Jarvan looked to his side and saw Shyvana looking at him with a smirk. Her scarf only hid her jaw and part of her mouth, and her glowing golden eyes shone with mischief.

"Speak nothing of it," he sighed. "Our little friend seems relentless," he gazed ahead, looking at Rammus' thick, spiky armor, a large horn protruding from the middle of the shell. "Has he spoken to you?"

"He only spoke to Leona when she wished us all a safe journey, and guess what he said?" Shyvana then mimicked a deep, rumbled tone. "'OK'. That's all,"

"Maybe he feels alienated among us, I mean, he's an armadillo,"

"And I'm a half-dragon, I believe I had more attention from the Rakkor than that pint-sized thing,"

"That's because you threaten everyone you see," Jarvan said matter-of-factly. "Leona said he had been travelling the desert all this while, without a companion. That kind of makes a person anti-social,"

"Well, I'm dying to know where we're heading because all I see right now is sand, sand and more sand,"

Jarvan said nothing and kept walking.

They climbed dunes after dunes, and as they went further into the desert, the wind started picking up. A slight breeze fluttered about, but that was a sign that they had to pull up their scarves and hoods. Rammus did nothing and kept walking, sometimes turning left or right to avoid trenches and cliffs. At one point, Jarvan thought he saw a small creature scurrying about in the corner of his vision, or the ground beneath him trembling slightly, but then he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.

His men however, were growing restless. The wind was growing stronger, yet it served naught to the heat in the air.

Soon, Jarvan walked up to Shyvana again, tapping her on a shoulder. "Hey, wanna bet?"

Shyvana's voice was muffled. "Bet what?"

"If either of us can make Rammus tell us where we're going, the winner gets free ale all night long once we reach the nearest town,"

She gave it some thought, and flashed an impish grin. "Alright, I'll go first,"

He watched as Shyvana hobbled along Rammus until they were both side-by-side. Rammus paid her no heed, looking ahead as though the sands did not bother him. He walked a few paces forward, straining his ears to listen to their conversation.

"Uhm, hey, Rammus,"

Jarvan couldn't help but chuckle. For an intimidating half-dragon, she found it hard to start a conversation concerning a creature that was barely half her size.

Rammus turned and looked at her briefly, though he said nothing. He nodded before looking forward again, leaving Shyvana feeling awkward and not knowing what to say.

"Do you… know where we're heading?"

"Yeah," that was all he said.

"Great, where?"

"Huh,"

"You don't know where?"

"Yeh,"

"Or do you know where?"

"Right,"

If the sands weren't blowing in his direction, Jarvan would have laughed out loud at Shyvana's poor attempt. He could see that the half-dragon was getting frustrated, her eyebrows knitted in a frown and her fists clenched in irritation.

"Is there anything else, besides one-word answers, that you can say?" her voice rose in pitch, eyes throwing daggers at the little creature before her.

Surprisingly, Rammus stopped in his tracks, his head turning and looking up at Shyvana. His lips were taut in a thin line, his eyes calm and unfazed by the half-dragon's unbridled rage. His face showed no emotions, however, and there seemed to be a slight pause as he thought of a reply.

"OK," he said, turned away and continued walking.

Jarvan thought he saw smoke rising from the top of Shyvana's hood, but he made no mention about it. He walked past Shyvana towards Rammus.

"Hey Rammus, you have any idea where we're going?"

"Yeah," Rammus mumbled.

"Where, the oasis?"

"Right,"

"Can you point me the direction?"

Rammus stopped again, looking at his surroundings. He then raised a claw, pointing north-east from their direction. Jarvan looked back at Shyvana and grinned in triumph. She only stared at them both with equal disbelief and frustration.

"You owe me ale," he smirked.

Shyvana opened her mouth to protest, until she saw a cloud of sand far in the distance. It seemed to be moving about at quick speeds, indicating a brewing sandstorm. The breeze they felt earlier was just a warning.

Jarvan noticed her petrified expression, and waved in front of her to draw her attention. Shyvana hushed him and grabbed his shoulders, whirling him around. "Do you see it? North of us?"

Jarvan squinted. "See what?"

"Alfie!" she shouted. "North of us, do you see it?!"

"A sandstorm is coming, prince!" Alfie ran ahead and squinted as well. "A huge one!"

"There ain't no shelters nearby," Horace said.

_Rammus knows,_ Jarvan thought hopefully. The Armordillo had stopped and looked ahead as well. He had travelled through the desert so many times, surely he knows the terrain like the back of his palm. Jarvan knelt down so he was at the same height as Rammus, and whispered.

"Rammus, is there a town nearby?"

Rammus looked at him and shook his head. The movement was barely noticeable, but Jarvan nodded in understanding. "Can you bring us to somewhere, where we can hide from the storm?"

He nodded and pointed to the west, before curling into a ball that spun really quickly. In a heartbeat, Rammus shot off with incredible speed without warning. Jarvan shouted to his men to follow up, running as fast as he could to catch up with the Armordillo's speed.

Jarvan had no idea how long he had been running, but his legs kept pumping as he ran across dunes, keeping Rammus in sight. He could hear the grunts and pants of his men, struggling to follow up. And by the time Rammus had stopped and uncurled himself, the sandstorm was almost upon them.

They had reached what seemed to be an abandoned village, with the paved stone paths now cracked and covered by blowing sands. Stone huts and houses had fallen and collapsed, some missing a roof, mostly dusty and empty. Whoever lived here were gone long ago, leaving the place to succumb to ages of sands and dirt.

Rammus weaved through the twists and turns of the village, passing by broken pillars and huge clumps of fallen statues. Jarvan caught sight of an enormous stone circle that was broken in half, complete with odd carvings and symbols, and he would have investigated further had it not been the coming sandstorm.

Then the Armordillo led them into a huge building made up of stone and baked clay, though years of scorching sun and sandstorms had worn off the signs on the gates. The west wing of the building was demolished, letting in enough rays of sunlight to illuminate the interior. Inside was a maze of corridors and chambers and broken furniture, until they entered a massive hall with a huge, hollowed square pool, lined with woven ropes and leather-bound pipes that led deep into the underground. Underneath the shade, scarabs and tiny desert wildlife made their home here, together with some odd, needle-like plants that grew near the pipes.

"A bath house," Shyvana's voice echoed throughout the building. "There should be water here,"

August grumbled. "The pipes could be filled with naught but sands. My guess is that this place has been left for decades, if not centuries,"

"I disagree," Shyvana went near the edge of the pool, her fingers barely touching the tiny leaves of the plants. "These plants must have gotten water somewhere, there's definitely water deep under,"

"True, but these are mintstones," Horace plucked one of the leaves and bit hard on it. "Hard leaves, but contains lots of water. Long, thin yet absorbent roots. They could survive on just a flagon of water for ten years,"

Shyvana looked at Jarvan, confused. "Does the Demacian military make you study botany?"

"No," Jarvan sat down in a corner and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "Horace's father is a botanist. Now if you'll excuse me. I need to get some rest. God knows when the storm's going to end,"

"Me too," Kyvan laid down his heavy shield and bundles of heavy armor pieces.

"Alfie and I will take the first watch," Lance announced, and sheathed his dual swords at his hips. Alfie slung a quiver of arrows behind him, and together they walked out of the large hall.

"I'll scavenge for something useful," August said to no one in particular, with that usually unhappy and angry tone of his, and walked away.

"I guess I'll check out the plants here. Could pick up a few samples on the way home," Horace started clasping the ropes gingerly, testing them, before slowly climbing down the square pool.

All that was left was Rammus and Shyvana. Rammus sat on his rear, his claws crushing a few scarabs he found hiding under stones, then popping them into his mouth. Shyvana stared at the Armordillo awkwardly, thinking of what to do.

"Hey," she finally said, hoping the lone companion would at least speak out.

Rammus looked up, his mouth stopping its chewing motion. His face was blank as ever, and he lifted a claw of crushed desert beetles, offering some to Shyvana.

"Uhm, no. I don't eat bugs," she declined.

Rammus threw the remaining scarabs into his mouth, then curled into a ball and laid still, probably fallen asleep.

Shyvana still stood there, like an idiot thinking of what to do.

* * *

_It's cooling here, though creepy, _Horace shuddered as he toyed with a patch of moss at the bottom of the pool. The clay that constructed the pool emitted a cooling aura, though there was little sunlight and Horace had to strain to watch his steps. _Not as creepy as the half-dragon's company, anyway. _

Slowly, he crept towards the middle of the pool and plucked a few mintstone leaves, before chucking them into a leather sack. His footsteps made solid thuds against the hard clay floor, until he reached somewhat the middle, where the sound of the thud sounded rather hollow.

_Strange, _Horace drew his spear and poked its butt against the hard-packed floor. He did it again as he made a few steps forward, the thud growing more hollow as he advanced further. Then, he rammed the butt of his spear hard against the floor, and the ground beneath gave way, revealing a narrow but deep hole.

Curious, Horace stretched a hand into the hole, grasping around to search for anything. His fingers brushed lightly against a rough and hard object, which he promptly wrapped his hand around it, before pulling his hand out.

Horace had to squint to see what he found. And when he could see clearly, he was holding a broken skull, with a missing lower jaw.

"Shit!" Horace exclaimed in shock and terror, dropping the skull onto the clay floor. He retreated backwards quickly, before the gaping hole beneath spread even further. The light was enough to reveal what sat within the deep, wide cavern.

More skulls, and pieces of broken bones. Horace was not disturbed by the sight of yellowed skulls and skeletons, but the way the pieces of bones were scattered around. If a few dead people were buried here, their skeletons should have been whole and well-arranged. Yet deep in this cavern that Horace found, racks of ribs were broken and scattered apart, hip bone and shoulder bones were found clustered together, and at some spots were several other smaller bones from limbs.

It was as if a large number of people were trapped in this pool, and a being somehow tore them all apart, throwing parts of bodies everywhere in the pool. Then, buried them all with a pack of clay.

_This place isn't normal, I have to tell the prince!_

Horace hefted his spear behind him as he turned on his heel to leave, and just as his foot stomped against the ground, it gave way. Fear overwhelmed him, and Horace shouted as loud as he could, hoping to get his comrades' attention.

He had no idea how deep the hole was, but by the time he crashed to the bottom of it, he couldn't see his surrounding except for the mouth of the hole. He heard an excruciating crunch as his feet hit the bottom, and when Horace tried to stand, he was met with a stabbing pain in his ankle.

Fortunately, he could hear alarmed noises and shouts from above, and he could hear the prince calling his name. Horace sighed in relief, he would be saved.

"Prince!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'm fine! Popped my ankle, but fine!"

The darkness was unnerving. Horace stretched out his spear, waving around and expected it to hit against walls. Instead, his spear only touched air. He rapped the butt of his spear against the ground, and marvelled when it echoed far ahead, like he had fallen into a large tunnel.

_A tunnel to transport water into the pool? _He thought. Then he remembered the buried bones he had found earlier.

The noises above grew nearer and frantic.

Horace was about to crawl forward to see how far the tunnel leads to, until he heard a malicious hiss, out of nowhere.

He whirled around as best as he could, his spear lashed out. "Who's there?!" he shouted. Yet he was drowned in silence again.

A few seconds later, someone snarled.

"_Fuck,_" Horace cursed. His breathing was short and frantic, sweat beading on his forehead as he looked around anxiously. If he was attacked, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't move around without hurting his ankle any further.

Then, a few more snarls and hisses. And the sound of a rasping creature.

"Fuck this!" Horace got to his feet, ignoring his broken ankle and lashed out his spear blindly. He could hear angry hisses and crackles this time, and Horace kept swinging his spear, hoping the prince would hurry.

"You want some of this?!" Horace swung wildly. "I'll show you-" Something suddenly grabbed his spear, pulling him forward as Horace skidded face-first against the rough ground. This time he heard them snarling and hissing with triumph, and he swore he could feel their breath all around him, surrounding him.

When Horace looked up, he was met with two rows of sharp fangs, and two fangs extended from the side of the maw that rattled with excitement. More similar creatures appeared, drawing closer and closer.

The last thing Horace heard was his own agonized scream.

* * *

**Not much happens in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10: Into The Storm

**Thanks to all who favourited, followed and reviewed! **

* * *

**Chapter 10: Into The Storm**

The moment the screaming started, Jarvan was awake.

Shyvana, who had been sitting in a corner and throwing pebbles at a wall, rushed to her feet as well. Rammus stood at the edge of the pool, looking into the dark bottom mysteriously. Jarvan gripped his lance tightly, prepared for an assault.

"It's Horace," Shyvana said grimly. "He was at the bottom of the pool,"

Jarvan immediately went to the nearest rope and tried to descend to the bottom of the pool, before being stopped by Kyvan. August, Lance and Alfie ran back into the hall after hearing the commotion, only to find Horace missing among them.

"Horace!" Jarvan shouted. A few moments later, they could hear a voice belonging to Horace's, but it was muffled and distant, as though he was now a few feet below the ground. Nonetheless, he needed their help.

"Prince," Kyvan's grip was strong, forbidding him from going further. "You don't know what's down there,"

"He needs help! I will not have another man lose his life under my command!"

"One of us can go and scout," Lance suggested, drawing a sword from its sheath.

"No, it's too dark," August grumbled.

"I'll go,"

All eyes were fixed on the half-dragon, who stared at Jarvan nonchalantly. She lifted her gauntlet and conjured a ball of fire in her hand, casting eerie shadows upon the walls of the bath house.

"Shyvana-"

"I'm not under your command. I'm just tagging along anyway," the fire flickered above her palm, growing as she summoned it at will. "Your men hates me, and if something happens to me down there, you're free from your promise. You can go back to Demacia and deal with the politics in Kalamanda. Isn't that what you want?"

_Yes, but you don't have to risk yourself for it_, Jarvan thought. But he said nothing. His men watched them intensely.

"Besides," Shyvana tugged on the rope and began her descent without waiting for Jarvan's consent. "If I die, I don't have to buy you ale for the whole night anyway,"

Jarvan only sighed. "Please be quick," he said, but Shyvana already made her way down to the bottom. "Others, draw your weapons, just in case,"

* * *

Shyvana landed on the hard ground with a thud, the fire giving her a small circle of vision. Carefully, she trudged aimlessly about the pool, trying her best to conceal the scraping noises her boots made on the ground.

Then she noticed a large section in the middle of the pool which was caved in, and when she held the light closer to the collapsed area, she could clearly see a pile of scattered and broken bones.

_This isn't a bath house? But a sacrificial pit? _But that was none of her concern. She approached the other side of the cavern gingerly, and came across with another hole, but this one was smaller, and even when Shyvana shone her fire near it, she was met with a deep, bottomless abyss.

She was about to throw a ball of fire into the tunnel, to see how far it was. Then she heard a terrified shout, a few muffled words coming from the cave. Shyvana crept backwards, deeming the tunnel dangerous. However, she could tell that the voice belonged to Horace.

Then a scream. Long and agonizing. Followed by gurgles and gagging noises, as though the owner of the voice was choking on something.

What frightened her even more was the snarls and crackles and hisses of several other creatures. Those sounds were inhuman, and they sounded contented, satisfied and happy. She did not want to think about what happened to the man trapped down there.

Shyvana put out the small mote of flame, stepping backwards slowly to avoid drawing attention. _That's it, if I keep inching backwards to the wall, I can climb back up-_

She felt her feet slip as she was stepping on different heights, and she tumbled into the large cavern she had discovered earlier, crashing into the pile of bones. The hole was only about three-feet deep, yet when her rear hit the bottom, she couldn't help but hiss in pain. Her fall was loud, reverberating through the silence of the pool.

The snarls and hisses of the creatures stopped.

Shyvana did not think twice before scrambling back to her feet, sprinting and climbing out of the hole. She ran as fast as she could to the end of the pool, and cursed when there was no ropes. She sank the claws of her gauntlets into the walls to climb back to the top.

A loud rumble echoed behind her, and the ground began to tremble.

"Shit!" Shyvana cussed, her grip on a ledge slipping. She climbed frantically, but her hand kept sliding away from the wall of the pool.

She heard a shout, someone calling out her name. Jarvan.

"Get out of here!" she barked as loud as she could, hoping that they heard her. Her hands scrabbled on the wall for purchase, and she lifted herself inch by inch, desperately clinging to the wall for dear life.

A screech sounded in the air. Shyvana froze. Her breath stopped short, and she did not dare to turn back.

_I am a half-dragon, _she reminded herself. _This is nothing, I've faced worse enemies. _

But the enemies she had fought did not come in a swarm.

Behind her, an unknown creature suddenly exploded out of the bottom of the pool, forming a gaping cavern. It landed on its legs and shrieked, an animalistic noise that a predator makes when it was hungry for blood.

Then more creatures burst through the ground. The pool was plunged into darkness as Shyvana had put out her flame, and she hoped they couldn't see her. She slowly lifted her hand and grasped around for leverage, holding her breath for fear they could hear her.

The snarls and hisses grew louder. More crawled out of opened tunnels.

Shyvana cheered internally when her hand found a grip. Slowly she climbed another inch. _A little more, just a bit more._

Just next to her, a creature burst through the wall, its maw of vicious fangs visible. When it crawled out of the burrowed tunnel, Shyvana could tell from the silhouette that it had two front legs, and a long, lean body filled with smaller legs for crawling. It was slightly larger than a regular adult.

She did not hesitate, she did not care if they heard her. Her hands and legs worked hurriedly, as she finally gripped the edge of the pool. The creatures, however, heard her. And she could hear them approaching her at terrifying speed.

Shyvana was about to swing her leg up to climb out of the pit, when a clawed hand grabbed her leg tightly. The sharp claws dug into her leather boots, plunging into her ankle, and she howled in pain.

"Son of a fuck!" she summoned a large ball of flame, throwing it down into the pool. It slapped into the face of the unknown creature, which it whimpered and released its grasp.

The flames exploded and lighted up her vision for a heartbeat. It went out quickly, but she saw enough to know she had to get the hell out of this place.

There were _hundreds _of them.

Something wrapped around her wrist and Shyvana shot out with a fist frantically. But before she could land a punch, another hand grabbed her. "It's me. Rammus led the others out," Jarvan said reassuringly, though his strong grip on her wrists were a little too tight. "Come on, we have to hurry!"

He pulled her out of the pool with all his might, and without a second thought, they sprinted towards the exit. It wasn't long before they could hear the screeches and cackles of the creatures, more tunnelling out of the ground right behind them. Their fear gave them a burst of adrenaline, and they ran like the wind.

They exited the hall into a long hallway. After making sure they were far enough from the creatures, both Shyvana and Jarvan leaned against a wall, panting heavily.

Jarvan breathed a sigh of relief. "Whatever they are –"

"Xer'Sai," Shyvana answered.

"Have you fought them before?"

"Only heard of them. Never even met one," she panted. "And there are a swarm of those. Horace fell into one of their tunnels,"

The prince remained silent, but closed his eyes forlornly. Shyvana would have felt sorry for him, but now the building was being infested by hundreds of Xer'Sai. She crept near the wall and looked warily, before telling the prince to follow her.

"You can mourn later. We have to get out," she whispered.

Jarvan nodded, looking behind him fearfully. Together, they walked through a series of hallways, each time creeping along chambers and peeping into empty halls for any threat, before moving forward again. It seemed like an eternity, but when they saw light and winds pouring through the crumbled entrance, they couldn't have felt more relieved.

"The sandstorm is still strong," Shyvana hastened her pace, making quick strides towards the entrance. "We have no choice, put up your hood–"

"_Get down!_"

She felt some great force slamming into her, pushing her to the floor. The fall knocked the air out of her lungs, but she could hear a deep humming nearby and a hellish symphony of the creatures' call. When she opened her eyes, she gasped.

Jarvan stood above her, holding his lance out menacingly, daring the Xer'Sai to approach them. Gold light and markings seared into the floor, illuminating the dark hallway as it revealed hundreds of Xer'Sai staying away from the edge of the markings, hissing at them angrily. When she raised her hands, she realized that both Jarvan and she were enveloped in a strange golden light, like a shield.

"No _fucking _way," she looked up at him incredulously. "You didn't tell me you know magic!"

"Golden Aegis," Jarvan simply said, though his voice sounded strained. "Do something, Carve a path to the entrance! This shield won't hold!"

Shyvana did not need to be told twice. She channelled her anger and focused them, feeling her limbs and throat and chest surge with red-hot fury. Fire soon engulfed her frame, before she enlarged to thrice her size, grew wings, horns and a long tail. Her mane of red hair flowed down her spine like a river of flames, her tempered Ionian steel gauntlets melting and fusing with her wings and claws, strengthening her.

"_On wings of fury!_" Shyvana roared, a bestial tone lacing her voice. She sprayed flames upon the swarm of Xer'Sai blocking the entrance, watching gleefully as the creatures scampered away with fear. Some caught fire and even though it clearly hurt them, the creatures were not fatally wounded.

Jarvan's shield shattered, and he used his chance to throw his lance forward. A Demacian standard shot outwards, planting itself near the entrance. Jarvan shot his lance ahead, and Shyvana continued breathing fire upon the sand Voidlings as his lance extended to thrice its length. The lance hooked itself to the standard, pulling Jarvan towards it as it retracted.

Shyvana tucked in her wings and glided towards the entrance, crashing past it as the small opening couldn't fit her. Immediately, strong winds threatened to bring her down. She pumped harder, struggling to keep herself afloat. Jarvan had already put up his hood and scarf, gesturing to the half-dragon to follow him.

"Prince Jarvan!" Kyvan's voice, like a clap of thunder, was muffled by his scarf. The men all had their weapons ready, and Rammus was curled into a ball, spinning in circles anxiously.

"Xer'Sai," Jarvan explained quickly. "Coming. In large numbers,"

"_Incoming!_" Alfie shouted. He nocked an arrow with lightning speed, barely aiming before releasing the arrow. It whistled past Jarvan's ear, and embedded deep into the head of a Xer'Sai. It whimpered piteously, before falling to the ground, its legs flailing in the air.

And behind it, hundreds of Xer'Sai burrowed out of the grounds, bringing down stones and statues and pillars. Each and every one of them was the same – purple and blue shells that covered their flesh, a maw filled with sharp teeth to tear their prey apart and two legs armed with curved claws. They all hissed angrily as they spotted them, spittle dripping down their teeth.

Rammus shot off in the opposite direction without a warning. And the men followed behind the Armordillo, desperately keeping their scarves and hoods in place to shield themselves from the merciless storm.

As they sprinted on the sands, stumbling along the way, a few more Xer'Sai burst through the sand ahead of them. Some of them ran into the men, jaws hung open to attack. Kyvan roared and swung his tower shield with might, slamming into the Xer'Sai and knocking them away. August swung his mace, battering those that came from the side. Alfie shot arrow after arrow, each planted deep into the Xer'Sai's head, whereas Lance and Jarvan pierced and stabbed and slashed those that came too close.

Shyvana flew above them, spitting a ball of flame to the ones in front while keeping Rammus in sight. Rammus sped off quickly, leaving trails behind before covered up by the rough, raging sandstorm. Rammus was going too fast, and Shyvana would soon lose sight of him.

And around them, the Xer'Sai kept increasing in numbers. Soon they would be surrounded, before being overwhelmed.

"_Jarvan!_" Shyvana called. "_We won't make it!_"

"We will!" Jarvan shouted, holding his scarf in one place and swinging his lance with the other. "We have to! Kyvan, take the front!"

Kyvan grunted. He pushed his tower shield forward, and the other men fell in line behind him. Kyvan charged forward, hiding behind his shield as Alfie continued firing arrows at the creatures that tried to attack him.

The half-dragon used all her strength to fly faster, the strong air current resisting her flight. The Xer'Sai could not hop high enough to attack her, and she took that as an advantage. She flew far ahead of Jarvan and his men, scanning everywhere within the storm for the sight of an armadillo with a vaunted suit of armor.

But Rammus was nowhere to be found. And they had no idea where they were.

_Where?_ Shyvana remained in midair, searching frantically for the little creature. Had he abandoned them? She couldn't help but feel fear. They could fight as much of the Xer'Sai as possible, but they did not know where to go. If they went to the wrong direction, they may head even deeper into the Sai region.

The air was filled with the strong howls and roars of the sandstorm, drowning out the sounds of clashing steel against hard skins and the whimpers and hisses and snarls of the ever-increasing Xer'Sai.

All that mattered not when a loud screech pierced through all the noises. It was similar to that of a Xer'Sai, but this one sounded fiercer, more malevolent, and certainly hungrier.

The men had stopped fighting, their faces froze with horrified and astonished looks. Even the creatures had backed away slightly, cackling in awe.

Ahead of them, a large beast burst through the sands.

It was _huge, _almost the size of a house. Its features were similar to that of a regular Xer'Sai, but this one had larger claws and teeth, and looked like it could crush Shyvana in her dragon form with a stomp. The monstrous creature snarled, and the Xer'Sai swarmed around it reverently.

Jarvan couldn't help but step back in fear. Even Shyvana flew further away, her eyes wide with terror.

"It can't be true," Lance shuddered. "They said it was just a myth,"

"It can only be _her_," Kyvan grumbled. "The Queen of the swarm, Rek'Sai,"

"We're going to die," Lance muttered.

Rek'Sai turned towards them, her mandibles rattling viciously. The Xer'Sai hissed in unison, baring their fangs. The creatures quickly formed a wide circle around them, more crawling out of burrowed sand tunnels. The men stood back-to-back, weapons drawn and ready to fight back. Shyvana landed, still in her dragon form, her head swinging side-to-side to look for a way out.

"Awaiting your command, prince," August lifted his mace intimidatingly, ever the fearless. Rek'Sai lowered her body to the sands, prepared to charge.

"We separate. Three directions," the prince used a commanding voice, though he could feel his hands tremble with fear. "Shyvana and I will hold off the Queen, the four of you, try to open a path,"

"What else, prince?"

Jarvan tightened his grip on his lance. "Show these bastards the true power of Demacia!" he roared and charged forward. The men followed his cue and charged as well, weapons raised. The Xer'Sai started filling in, scuttling and pouncing towards the men.

Shyvana growled and hopped into the air, clawing and biting and burning everything in her path. Jarvan fought like a madman, his lance a blur as he swung and pierced and slashed, making sure that each blow was as lethal as possible.

Rek'Sai hissed and dashed forward, her jaws hung open to bite the dragon into half. Shyvana quickly swerved out of the way, spraying flames upon the Void beast. The flames, however, did not have the same effect as it did on the smaller creatures, as the flames only spread and flickered out on the surface of her skull.

"_Jarvan!_" Shyvana roared, gliding back and forth as she dodged Rek'Sai's bite. "_What's the plan?!_"

He sprinted towards Rek'Sai, ducking and dodging the Xer'Sai's rampage. "Distract her! I know what to do!"

"_That's not helping!_" Shyvana growled, ducking as Rek'Sai swung her tail at her. She flew to the other side of the Voidborn and planted her claws into her spine, trying hard to plunge them into her thick armor.

Rek'Sai seemed more annoyed than hurt. She hissed and stretched her front legs over her shoulders to grab the half-dragon, yet Shyvana held on fast, avoiding her curved claws. Furious, Rek'Sai reared backwards before burrowing deep into the sandy terrain, bringing the half-dragon with her.

"Shyvana!" Jarvan shouted, following the trail of destruction that Rek'Sai left upon the dunes.

Beneath the sand, Shyvana held onto Rek'Sai's back as the Voidborn shovelled violently through the tunnels with incredible speed. She felt as though she might be ripped away from the creature, which only made her grip tighten. The rough rocks and sand rubbed against her back and wings, and the blinding pain almost made her lose her grip.

It wasn't long before Rek'Sai resurfaced, throwing Shyvana off balance. The half-dragon was hurled towards a swarm of Xer'Sai, and she crashed forcefully into them.

Shyvana engulfed herself in flames, hissing painfully as she got to her feet. The Xer'Sai were in a frenzy, rushing forward and surrounding her, some even daring enough to bite and claw her, leaving wounds upon her draconic form. Shyvana hissed, her reptilian eyes crazed, then clawed and crushed the Xer'Sai. Blood flowed through her wounds, but her blood was boiling with rage as well.

Rek'Sai approached her, baring her fangs and her lips were stretched back in a smile. Shyvana growled, her strength faltering slightly, but her will to survive was hard as stone.

Then from above, Shyvana caught the sight of a human figure. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Jarvan holding his lance aloft, descending between Rek'Sai and her.

He came crashing down with his lance planted deep into the sands, and around him, the ground cracked and shifted. Stones protruded from the sands and surrounded Jarvan and Rek'Sai, whereas most of the Xer'Sai were thrown off by the powerful force. Even Rek'Sai staggered, snarling at Jarvan.

Jarvan dashed forward fearlessly. He roared a battle cry, but Shyvana could not make out what he was saying. Rek'Sai dashed forward as well, her claws raised. Without a second thought, Shyvana took off the ground, and flew towards the arena that Jarvan formed around himself.

Jarvan's lance extended, and Shyvana let forth a jet of flames. His lance scraped against her strong armor, but a crack formed upon the hard shell on her left shoulder. Shyvana's flames hit her full in the face, and Rek'Sai hissed painfully, some of the fire flowing into her maw and singeing the soft flesh within.

Shyvana flew higher and higher, breathing short bursts of flames upon the Voidborn as the prince struck from below. Rek'Sai snarled angrily, and tried to catch the half-dragon with her maw. Jarvan shot forth his lance again, grinning triumphantly when it finally penetrated its hard armor, sinking into the soft flesh beneath.

Rek'Sai staggered backwards, whimpering in pain.

Jarvan retracted his lance just as Shyvana clumsily dropped to the ground next to him. The half-dragon hissed as blood seeped through her wounds, before her form was embraced by her own flames. Slowly, she shrunk, returning back to her human form.

"Heh," Shyvana wiped a stream of blood from her chin. "The others don't seem to be faring well,"

Jarvan looked to where his remaining men were fighting. Alfie was firing his arrows as quick as he could, each shot precise and lethal but his quiver was running empty. August roared and swung his mace, smashing the Xer'Sai's fangs and claws to bits. Kyvan would stun the beasts by slamming his shield into them, then crush them by bringing the massive shield upon them. Lance was a deadly dancer, his dual swords slashed and cleaved and cut as they moved in rhythm with his body.

But no matter how many they brought down, two more would take the place of the defeated. It wasn't long before Alfie ran out of arrows, and he stood helplessly behind his brothers-in-arms.

"It won't work," Jarvan mumbled. Behind them, Rek'Sai howled again. This time, she sounded much more agitated, and her mandibles rattled furiously. Shyvana was badly hurt, and would not be able to transform into a dragon anytime soon.

"Death by a swarm of creepy creatures," Shyvana chuckled. She lit her gauntlets ablaze, ready to face the Void Burrower once again. "How unfortunate,"

"At least we don't die screaming," Jarvan's lips twisted into a grimace. He had sustained a few injuries, and his strength was draining away. However, he raised his lance, facing Rek'Sai and her swarm of Xer'Sai.

Shyvana looked at Jarvan. For a man who was about to meet his death soon, he seemed extremely calm. She felt uneasy about this, and more so when this man, the prince, had just wished to at least go back to his home once again, to at least see his beloved mother.

She understood the lure of home, of knowing that there were still people you love out there.

"Take your men and leave, prince," she finally said.

"What?"

"I'm going to open a path to the east. That was where I last saw Rammus," Shyvana said. "Use that shield of yours, your remaining strength may be enough to cast a shield that large. And have Kyvan lead the front. Once you're far enough, run as far as you can,"

"But what about you?" Jarvan shook his head vehemently, refusing to accept what she said. A few Xer'Sai pounced towards them, and they quickly fended them off. Yet more were coming their way.

"What about me?" Shyvana grunted, smashing her gauntlet into a Xer'Sai's skull. "Why do you care?"

"You never liked us," Jarvan swung his lance. "And now you're willing to sacrifice for us?"

Shyvana spat. "This isn't for you. I am dead the moment my father was murdered anyway,"

"The drake –"

"Even after we killed the drake, so what?" Shyvana whirled and yelled at him angrily. Jarvan was taken aback by her sudden outburst, but beneath the anger, he could see grief and hopelessness. "I don't have a home anymore. You still have a purpose in life, you have to return to your people. I am nothing but an empty shell,"

"I promised you –"

"If you're a good prince, you would do the right thing for your men. I am not your people, only a half-breed. I do not deserve your kindness," she faced the battle once again, turning her back against him. Her decision was final.

Jarvan pursed his lips. He turned towards his men, and did what he had to.

"Kyvan! Prepare your shield, Shyvana will open up a path. To your east, and prepare to run for it!"

"Aye, sire!" Kyvan growled, swinging his shield back and forth. Lance, August and Alfie slowly inched to their east, waiting for the chance to present itself.

Shyvana lifted her gauntlets, which were now too heavy for her weakened state. Mustering her remaining strength, she summoned all her fire and fury, and threw both her fist forward. A massive burst of flames erupted, burning through even the Xer'Sai, as they whimpered and hissed before laying still on the ground. Right on cue, Kyvan charged for the exit, knocking down Xer'Sai that were in his way.

Then Jarvan summoned the Golden Aegis. As the men ran past him, they were all enveloped in a golden energy. And when the Xer'Sai pounced upon them, they were struck by the shield and only bounced back harmlessly.

However, Jarvan did not follow them to the exit. He remained by her side, waving his lance tauntingly at Rek'Sai, distracting her.

"What are you –"

"I'm doing the right thing," Jarvan said. "Everyone deserves to be treated kindly and fairly. And the same goes to you, half-dragon,"

Shyvana scoffed. "You do realize that your men will come back and drag you out of here, right?"

"No, they won't," Jarvan swung his lance and knocked a Xer'Sai backwards. Rek'Sai began charging towards them, not even noticing the absence of the other four men. "I told August to lead them all away to safety, and wait for a day. If I do not make it out alive, they will come back here to retrieve my body and return to Demacia,"

"Fool," Shyvana looked away, but she couldn't help but feel relieved.

Together, they dashed towards Rek'Sai. Shyvana's flames were now mere embers, and she was tiring out. Jarvan noticed, and rushed forward to cover her, his lance finishing off the Xer'Sai that she had managed to weaken. Even so, his strength was faltering. It wouldn't be long before they were overwhelmed by the large number of Xer'Sai.

"Shyvana," Jarvan dodged as Rek'Sai lashed out a claw. He struck her vulnerable shoulder with his lance, and she shrieked in pain and fury. "Think you can gather enough fire to light this bitch on fire?"

"How do you think I should – wait, did you see that?"

Jarvan only continued striking with his lance. "See what?"

Suddenly, a swarm of Xer'Sai to his left were knocked off their feet snarling in surprise. Something insanely fast and strong ran over some of the Xer'Sai, crushing skulls and snapping spines. Even Rek'Sai looked elsewhere, trying to track down the assailant.

And before they knew it, Rammus appeared right in front of them, uncurled and facing the large Void beast gallantly.

But there were no time for warm greetings and such, as the Voidlings advanced upon them, eager to tear this small creature and its spiked shell apart. Rammus crouched low, and clenched his clawed fists tightly.

And the ground began to tremble slightly. It was unnoticeable, until the small tremble turned into a powerful tremor, before growing into a massive earthquake, throwing some of the Xer'Sai off their feet.

Shyvana and Jarvan couldn't stand due to the quake. And before Jarvan could summon his Golden Aegis, something near his chest sizzled with heat. He fished into his tunic and revealed the pendant that Leona had given him, the Locket of the Iron Solari, and it began to glow brightly.

"How does it work?!" Shyvana shouted, her voice tiny because of the sound of the rumbling earth. Jarvan shook his head, but tried to channel his mana energy into the small pendant.

And just as the earthquake grew destructive, an orb surrounded both of them. They watched as sands rose and fell like the waves of an ocean, dunes blown into the sandstorm like leaves and terrains shifted and split. A loud, resounding crack resonated, forming a split in the middle of the earth and sending numerous Xer'Sai tumbling into the gap, before being swallowed by the earth.

Rek'Sai hissed and tried to move away, but the quake had proven too strong even for her. She stumbled and crashed into sands, crushing a few Xer'Sai beneath her. Some of the Xer'Sai began to disperse in fear, most burrowed into the ground and disappeared. Rek'Sai still remained, snarling and hissing in anger. Yet this time, her voice was laced with fear and uncertainty.

As the earthquake slowly diminished, so did their shield. Rek'Sai was still dazed, and Jarvan used this chance to charge forward, aiming his lance at her weak shoulder. With a battle cry, he plunged his lance into the beast's soft flesh.

Rek'Sai screamed and threw her head back in pain.

"Shyvana! Now!"

The adrenaline rush gave her a new burst of strength, and Shyvana quickly surrounded herself with flames, pushing her forward. She jumped and held both her gauntlets close together, conjuring a ball of fire before firing it into Rek'Sai's mouth.

The fire exploded and burnt the weak flesh inside her mouth. The Voidborn shrieked and shook her head back and forth, whimpering slightly as Jarvan withdrew his lance. She gave one last roar at Jarvan and Shyvana, before whirling backwards and burrowed a tunnel through the ruined land, disappearing with a resonating hiss.

The sandstorm was now nothing but a mere breeze, and the devastated desert was suddenly filled with eerie silence.

Rammus plopped down and sat on his rear, staring at Jarvan and Shyvana, blinking his small eyes. Jarvan still stared at the large hole the beast had created, afraid that she might burst out of it any moment.

Shyvana fell to her knees, coughing violently. That got Jarvan's attention, as he rushed to her side and pulled out her skin of water.

"You fought well," Jarvan pulled away the cork, lifting it slowly as she gripped the skin desperately, taking big gulps of water. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted," Shyvana sighed. "Otherwise, fine. We're lucky he did not abandon us,"

They both stared at Rammus who sat there, his chest heaving in exhaustion. "OK," that was all he said.

* * *

When Jarvan and his men had rejoined, there were no time for greeting and such. Immediately Rammus led the way again, with Jarvan filling in what happened during the fight. Shyvana was at the rear of the company, saying that she would watch their backs. But Jarvan noticed her wincing whenever she tried to keep up with their pace, and how there was a slight limp in her leg.

Jarvan kept an eye out for her. Each time he asked her if she needed help, she would refuse. He knew she was in immense pain, but she never asked for a rest, not even once.

Soon, night fell. Thousands of stars littered the sky that night, and the temperature plummeted drastically. Still they kept walking, with the guide of the moonlight and the little Armordillo.

"Maybe it's best if we rest for a while," Jarvan said out loud, stealing a glance at Shyvana. She had wrapped herself with layers of linen cloak, shivering slightly to the chill.

Rammus stopped and cast a glance at Jarvan. Slowly, he shook his head, gesturing that they had to keep walking.

Jarvan wanted to protest, but Shyvana interrupted. "Keep going, we're running out of water. And there's not even a single plant in sight. It's easier to walk under the night than the glare of the sun,"

"You're injured. The least you can do is lay down for a while,"

"I'll be fine," she dismissed Jarvan's concern with a wave, though he noticed how bloodshot and tired her eyes were. "We have to keep going. Perhaps we might find an oasis soon,"

"Perhaps," Jarvan agreed, even though he knew that it was unlikely to find an oasis soon. He had no idea where they were, and could only rely on Rammus' guidance.

"Prince!" Alfie and the others had hiked atop a small dune. Rammus had stopped as well. And the sense of urgency in their voice hinted that they had found something intriguing.

When both Jarvan and Shyvana climbed to the peak of the dune, they gasped in awe.

Beneath them laid the ruins of an ancient city, its statues, pillars and broken shrines scattered throughout the wide span of the desert. Eons of swirling sands had swallowed up this great civilization, yet some of its remains prevailed. They all heard enough lore and legends to know that this was no normal city. This was the ruins of Ancient Shurima, a great civilization once revered for its wealth, glory and vast knowledge of magic.

Embedded in the middle of the ruins was the ancient Sun Disc, destroyed and desolate, known to have harnessed great power that could grant a mortal godly powers.

"Shurima?" Jarvan whispered. "Does that mean we were in the middle of the desert all along?"

"The sandstorm had drifted us far away from our path. And look, that's the Frozen Watcher," Shyvana pointed to a constellation of stars far north, right beyond the Shurima wastes. "Follow the Frozen Watcher, hopefully it will lead us out," Rammus nodded in agreement.

When they passed by the ruins of the ancient city, they couldn't help but stare at the fallen statues and ruins in awe. They were standing atop something that they had once heard of only in bedtime stories, yet they were now gazing upon a broken Sun Disc, the one where Emperor Azir had used for his Ascension. The Emperor's Way were parched and ruined, whereas far ahead of them, a massive stone structure that resembled a large tomb resided beneath the sands, only its entrance visible. Guarding the gates was a stone serpent, covered in a sheen of dusts and sands.

"The Tomb of the Emperors," Shyvana said.

"How do you know?"

My father once told me about it: _the tomb of fallen kings of Shurima, guarded with a serpent's curse. What rests within, no one knows. And the secrets that lie within died with Shurima,_" she quoted. "The tomb is sealed. That's what my father said,"

"Very impressive," Jarvan praised. "All my father ever told me, was how Demacia had -"

"_You do not belong here,_"

They all drew their weapons immediately when they heard the voice. It was deep and gruff and echoed throughout the wasteland, yet it sounded obsolete, strong and soothing. Shyvana swore that the temperature had slumped even further, the chill slowly seeping into her bones. Around them, the swirling sands started to blow, all heading towards the Tomb of the Emperors.

"_Leave at once, mortals,_"

"Who's there?!" Jarvan howled, posing his lance with threat. "Appear, you craven!"

"_Craven?_" the voice rumbled. "_There is such potential in mortal life, and you've wasted yours,_"

Jarvan felt a shiver running down his spine. Why did it feel like the voice knew all about his life?

The ground began to tremble, and beneath it, an enormous form rose from the desert. It stood twenty-feet tall, and was shrouded by a dark mist, sands that swirled around it quickly blackened to corrupt. It was dressed in golden Shuriman garb, in its hand a large axe. Although the figure was clearly humanoid, its head was a jackal's, and its eyes were white and gleaming with fury.

"_Be gone, mortals,_" the figure pointed its axe at them. "_Or your spirits will drift into the sands of Shurima!_"

* * *

**This chapter felt difficult to write. I don't know why. Please review if you feel something's wrong, or if it's fine. Opinions are always welcomed!**


	11. Chapter 11: Hunger

**Chapter 11: Hunger**

The moment they saw the godly being, they all looked up with a mix of admiration and fear. They took a step back fearfully, but Rammus stood his ground, looking at the jackal-headed god with a cool stare.

"You're kidding me," Shyvana murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. Already she felt so weak that she could barely even walk straight. She was in no condition to fight a _god_.

Jarvan held out his lance gallantly, though he knew that there was no way they could defeat a being that huge, let alone a being with the abilities of a god. He expected the large axe to descend at any moment, but was surprised when it did not. Instead, he studied them with a permanent glare.

"_That outfit,_" the jackal-headed god twisted his head to the side quizzically. "_You do not look like Shuriman traders… or thieves,_"

"That's because we're neither of those," Jarvan said loudly, his voice almost drowned out by the howling winds.

"_Speak your purpose, mortals,_" the god held his axe in both hands threateningly. "_I can tell lies from truths. Do not deceive me,_"

Jarvan lowered his lance, and gestured to his men to do the same. Rammus continued staring at the god with a blank face, and Shyvana could not tell if he was looking up at him in awe or trepidation.

"We were heading our way northeast, out of the desert," the prince used his best commanding voice, though Shyvana could detect a slight tremor in his speech. "We believed that the region east of Shurima held knowledge of sorcery, and were heading our way there –"

"_Speak the _truth_, prince,_"

"We were caught in a sandstorm," Jarvan admitted, swallowing his fear. It was difficult not to flinch when the being knew who he was, even though he had no idea how. "Then we had to find shelter, and our guide led us to an abandoned village. What we did not expect was we were attacked by a band of raiders –"

The being cleared his throat.

"We were attacked by monsters," Jarvan said quickly. "Xer'Sai, Void creatures. And no, I'm not lying,"

The jackal-headed god went silent. He crossed his arms and thought deeply, contemplating the prince's words. The men stood uneasily, like they were a bunch of criminals waiting to be tried and punished.

When the god looked up, his features were creased with a frown. Shyvana laughed internally. Those weren't the expressions that would befit a divine being capable of killing with just a lift of his finger.

"_This abandoned village…_" the god gripped his axe tightly. "_Does it have a large bath house? And a broken sun dial?_"

An image of an enormous and ruined circle appeared in the prince's mind. "Yes," Jarvan nodded.

"A bath house?" Shyvana scoffed. "You wouldn't think it's a bath house once you see what's at the bottom of the dried pool,"

"_It was, once,_" the god's voice was nostalgic. "_It wa_s _once a part of Shurima, then tragedy befell the empire. And nothing but dust and ashes was left,_"

"_Mayhaps I was wrong about you,_" the god withdrew his axe. Where there was once fury and contempt on his features was now replaced by calmness and sincerity. "_Your company reeked of something evil, and what was even more suspicious was the sight of a dragon. Perhaps it was just the stench of the Xer'Sai,_"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Shyvana mumbled sarcastically under her breath. If the god heard her, he paid her no heed.

"_Still, what is a lost prince doing in the ruins of Shurima?_"

"We're just passing by," Jarvan answered. "Though we're in a critical condition right now, water is running low and some of us are injured. We were just looking for somewhere to settle down, then we came… here,"

"_I am curious,_" the god took a step forward, and the change was instant. One second the sands were swirling around him, and the next they were all drifted away, leaving the air still and thick. The gigantic being shrunk to several times of his own size, now only the size and height of a human, wielding a heavy-looking axe inscribed with ancient symbols and writings. Still, he stood two heads taller than Jarvan, and his physique was much more impressive.

Instead of the dark purple complexion they had all seen earlier, the jackal-headed god's skin was now a coat of light brown fur, and his Shuriman garb glimmered with brilliance beneath the stark moonlight.

"_I wish to learn of your story, prince, and how you've come to acquire two extraordinary allies,_" his eyes drifted to Rammus and Shyvana, full of curiosity and wonder. "_I've walked the earth for eons, and I have yet to encounter such beings,_"

"Well, it was a long story," Jarvan muttered awkwardly.

Surprisingly, the god laughed. It was more of a deep rumble that held strength, and at the same time, serenity and friendliness. He held out his arms. "_We will have plenty of time at the Oasis of the Dawn, prince. Your men can replenish their strength while you tell me your tale,_"

Jarvan's face lit up with hope, and the others shared his smile. "The oasis? There's one nearby?"

"_Not just any oasis,_" the god tapped his axe against the ground. "_This is known as the Mother of Life, and its water held magical healing properties. Though it hasn't been used for thousands of years…_" his voice trailed away sadly. "_Nevertheless, your company will serve the oasis' purpose well, before it's dried up like the rest of Shurima,_"

"Thank you," Jarvan said, still incredulous with the sudden turn of events. He bowed before the god with immense respect. "I am Jarvan IV, the Crown Prince of Demacia,"

"_There is no need for modesty, prince, I was once a mortal too,_" the god nodded. "_I am Nasus. Long ago, I was the revered Ascendant of this noble empire, alongside my brother. But now, I'm just the curator of the sands, cursed to guard the corpses of Shurima for eternity,_"

* * *

Shyvana sighed with relief and ease as she sat down near the edge of a large pond. This wasn't a mirage or anything, it was a _real _pond, with _real _water.

The water, however, was shallow and Shyvana could easily see the bottom of it even though it was late night. Nasus had told them that when Shurima was at its full glory, the Oasis of the Dawn had served as the empire's first and foremost water supply, believed to have divine properties as bestowed by several other Ascendants like Nasus himself.

She looked over to where a small fire was built, providing warmth for the chilly night. Jarvan's men were all asleep by the side of the pond after refilling their water skins, but around the fire, Nasus and Jarvan sat. Jarvan told him about all they had encountered, from his meeting with the half-dragon, to their battle with the Queen of the Xer'Sai.

Rammus, apparently, was taking a dip in the oasis. Shyvana had no idea how he managed to stay afloat, but the Armordillo's limbs were flailing at the skies, his shell serving as a cushion of air with him frolicking in the water. She laughed silently at the sight.

Her gaze remained fixed on Jarvan. His cloak was wrapped tightly around him to shield him against the cold, but his long black hair was exposed. His beard had grown wild as well, giving him a dishevelled and haggard appearance. Still, Shyvana thought that he had the most comely face she had ever seen.

_Everyone deserves to be treated kindly and fairly. And the same goes to you, half-dragon. _

She felt conflicted. She was thankful for the prince's kindness. But she couldn't help but be wary of him. But there was another reason as well.

She was afraid of herself. She remembered how she had unwillingly caused the death of three young lads, who thought they were doing the world a justice by capturing her father and her. Not to mention that her father died for the sake of her safety as well.

_Everywhere you go, death follows, _the dead man's words continued to haunt her mind, tainting all her hopes for blending in with the humans.

She didn't care if she would die in battle with the drake. She only wished to slay the monster, and even if she was killed, she would be reunited with her father. She would be free of further sufferings and humiliation by the dragons and humans. But if the prince dies with her…

She remembered his tale about his mother. She could tell from his voice that he missed her dearly, and would give up anything just to see her again. Shyvana knew little about the prince, but what she knew was if the prince had a wish, that was to return to his home once again, and serve his nation as a dutiful prince.

If he dies with her, so do his hopes and dreams. And she could not bear the thought of killing someone else's wish just to help her fulfill her own.

She found herself selfish and weak, needing someone else's assistance to complete her task. At that moment, she loathed herself.

_When a chance presents itself, I'll leave, _Shyvana decided. _This is my battle, not theirs. I can't drag them into this. This is my plight, and I will deal with it, alone._

_The prince will return to his home then, as the rightful heir of the throne. His mother will see him again. _Shyvana smiled bitterly as she remembered her own mother, but was happy for Jarvan. She had no doubt that the prince could serve his country well with the newfound experience outside Demacia.

He may be pompous sometimes, yes, but most importantly he had kindness.

_Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there are still good people left in this world,_ Shyvana thought.

"_You seemed troubled, half-dragon,_"

Shyvana looked up to see Nasus staring down at her. Even in his mortal form, Nasus looked insanely intimidating, his axe was always with him wherever he went. He sat down beside her, and the half-dragon felt dwarfed by the presence of the Ascended being.

"_Your thoughts are conflicted, jumbled in a mess. Like you're making a difficult decision,_" his gaze went to Rammus, who was still happily splashing about in the water.

"Do you read minds?" Shyvana pulled up her knees, resting her chin upon them. "Or can you tell the future?"

"_Sadly, no,_" Nasus' voice grew sad. "_If I could, Shurima would still be standing. I can tell a person's emotions when I am near enough, and yours are full of grief, fear and confusion. What is it that you fear?_"

"I fear nothing," the half-dragon looked away. "I have the blood of the dragon, it is them who should fear me,"

"_Then why do you shy away from the prince's company?_"

She had no answer for that.

"_No one enjoys being an outcast,_" Nasus raised a finger towards a small, isolated cactus, its needle-like leaves covered by grains of sand. As his finger touched the tiny plant, the sands dispersed, and revealed several other small plants beneath it. "_That's where all the hatred and despair come from – isolation. I can tell that you're a hateful person,_"

"I am a dragon," Shyvana spoke quickly. She felt queer that Nasus was able to predict what she felt. "I was born angry, and I feel nothing else but rage,"

"_Lies,_" Nasus' voice boomed like thunder, and she was afraid that he might cleave her into half right there and then. He did none of that, though. "_Even dragons yearn for a lifelong mate, more so for humans. And you're half of each. You must have yearned for someone to be called as your friend, but your anger and hate have concealed that desire, binding you to do its bidding,_"

Shyvana bared her fangs, her golden eyes glimmering with rage. "What do you understand? You know _nothing _about my past. All you've ever done is guard this desolate ruin, what do you know about being alone? I don't need your pity,"

It wasn't wise snapping at a god, but she was taken aback when Nasus' eyes were filled with sadness instead of fury. Even his ears had flopped down a little. "_I was something before I have to guard this ruin. I had a brother, and I had to seal him away for the fate of mankind. And every decade I waited for his return, but that was thousands of years ago,_"

He turned towards the Tomb of the Emperors, staring at it longingly. "_But since young I have learnt that life and death is part of the cycle, and not even gods can stop the wheel. All I could do is believe that my brother had died for the future of the world, sacrificing himself to seal away the forces of evil. And I am here to guard his work, his corpse and the secrets of this felled empire. So, yes. I understood how you felt,_"

Where there was contempt dwelling in her heart earlier, was now replaced by sympathy for Nasus and shame for herself. The god turned and stared at her again, the sadness in his eyes already vanished.

"_Do you think I have not noticed when you've never taken off those gauntlets of yours?_" he reached into the pond of water, and cupped his hands, collecting a small amount of water. "_If you fear nothing, why do you always have your weapons ready then? As the prince said earlier, he trusts you and wishes to offer you a place in the Demacian military,_"

Shyvana's eyes widened with shock. "Offer me a what? Hey, wait!" she yelled frantically when Nasus' cupped hands went above her head, slowly letting a stream of water flow and splash upon her head. Her armored hands shot out and shielded her head, her body jerking slightly as the cold water seeped through her cloak and tunic.

The water was freezing cold, but the chill did not last long. Strangely, Shyvana felt invigorated. When she lowered her gauntlets, she was surprised to see that some of the rust had gone, revealing its red and gold hues that gleamed proudly. The sharp edges that were full of scratched marks earlier was now shiny and sharpened.

Where there was a burning sensation on her wounded neck and back earlier, it was gone. Shyvana touched the nape of her neck, and gasped when it was smooth and slick with hundreds of tiny dragon scales. Healed, with not even a hint of a scar.

Shyvana smoothed a hand along the edges of her gauntlets. Now that the rust were gone, she could see the delicate craftsmanship of the weapon. As her fingers ghosted a touch against the tip of her gauntlet, she pulled back with a hiss. At the tip of her forefinger, a bead of blood rimmed around a small, fine cut.

"_The waters of the Mother of Life_," Nasus grinned as Shyvana marvelled at the sharpness of her gauntlets. "_It heals most, and sharpens weapons with an edge so fine, that your enemies won't even feel it when they are being cut_,"

"What you said earlier," Shyvana gave Nasus a long, hard stare. "That Jarvan wants to…"

"_Offer you a place in the Demacian military, yes,_"

"Why would he do that? He barely knows me,"

Nasus chuckled. "_He barely knows you? Why would the prince swear to help you slay your father's murderer? Why would he offer to die in battle by your side, fighting the Queen of the Xer'Sai?_"

She had no answer for that.

"_Isn't that what you want, though?_" Nasus asked. "_To have another purpose other than vengeance, to have a place where you can call home?_"

Shyvana shifted uncomfortably. "It is very tempting, yes. But it'll be impossible,"

Nasus quirked an eyebrow at her. She sighed and continued.

"His men fear me. He isn't afraid of me because he's the _prince_, he's well protected," the half-dragon looked over to where the men slept. "And I don't belong in Demacia. His people will only chase me away. I'd rather roam the world than to be pelted by stones and arrows,"

"_That's what you think,_" Nasus cocked his head to the side, the gesture similar to that of a curious dog. "_A shame, really. __Jarvan seemed rather adamant about it. I think he fancies you,_"

"Fancy?" Shyvana scoffed. "He'd better not. All this while I've brought nothing but pain and death to those close to me,"

Nasus stood, rising to full height. He looked over to where Rammus had climbed to the shore and lied down under a cactus on his belly, dozing off. "_That's for you to decide, half-dragon. I have no rights to tell you what to do,_"

Shyvana watched as Nasus started walking away from her. She thought about resting for the night as well, before Nasus stopped in his track and looked over his shoulder.

"_I know what you're worried about, half-dragon. But you could be right on one thing – perhaps there are still good people left in this world,_" with that, he turned and left.

Again, Shyvana wondered if Nasus could read minds.

* * *

When Shyvana was awake before dawn broke, Jarvan and his men were already up and about. Nasus sat by the oasis, a few scarabs scuttling about excitedly around his palm. Quickly, the men refilled their water skins, and equipped their armor and weapons for their rest of the journey out of Shurima.

"_The winds are kind today, and go further north this way,_" Nasus pointed ahead with his axe to the far distance ahead. "_Further away from the Sun Disc, and you shall find your way out of the desert,_"

"Thank you again, Nasus," the prince bowed to the Ascendant. "You've been a great help for us,"

"_I do what I must, to aid the ones that could bring good to this world,_" the god shot a brief glance at Shyvana, though the half-dragon pretended not to notice it. "_The Voidborn has come further north, and I must do my duty to keep those vile beasts away. Away from Shurima's remains,_"

He turned away and walked towards Rammus, before going down on one knee and stared at the creature keenly. "_I know of your purpose, little one. You have so much potential, for one so tiny,_"

Rammus only stared at Nasus. While the others wondered what Rammus' true purpose was. Not that Rammus would ever reveal it, though.

"_But sometimes the smallest creature can cast the biggest shadow. I await your results, little one,_" Nasus rose to his full height again, casting one last glance at the prince and his company. "_So long, Prince Jarvan IV_,"

With that they resumed their journey, Rammus at the head of the group and trudging through the sands towards the direction that Nasus had pointed them to. It wasn't long before the sun rose to its peak, then slowly descending down towards a mount in the horizon just before nightfall. By then, more green and less sands marked the ground they traversed upon, hinting their arrival near the forests of the Tempest Flats, right at the border of Noxus.

And for the entire journey, Shyvana isolated herself from the group, listening to the men ranting about their lives. The prince joined them, albeit noticing Shyvana's unusual silence. He had tried approaching her, yet she deliberately shut him out.

Jarvan was right to feel suspicious about her current demeanour. Several journeys before she had always been quiet, yes, but this time it seemed more like she was trying to avoid their company, even the prince's.

Shyvana wrapped her arms around herself, welcoming the loneliness like an old friend. A voice kept repeating itself in her mind. _Everywhere you go, death follows._

Just as they approached a rather dense forest, which hinted the end of the desert, the sun had already sunken to its slumber. The skies were a shade of red and blue, and further away, the proud summit of Mount Targon stood. Shyvana couldn't help but wonder if Leona was worrying about them.

Once they reached the forest, Rammus knew he had done his job. He turned towards the men and performed what seemed like a flimsy yet grateful bow, bidding them all farewell.

Jarvan knelt down to the little creature, lifting the Locket of the Iron Solari off his neck. If it hadn't been for Rammus, they would have been crushed by Rek'Sai. "Thank you, Rammus. Your efforts will never be forgotten. Take this back to Leona, let her know that you've been a great boon to our quest,"

Rammus nodded and held the pendant in between his claws. "OK," he mumbled.

He turned towards the looming mountain in the distance, curled into a ball and sped away, leaving a deep trail of sand and dirt.

Shyvana and Rammus hadn't bonded much, but she couldn't help but miss the little guy's presence already.

* * *

Jarvan came when she finally climbed up a tree, making herself as comfortable as possible beneath the canopy of leaves. She had distanced herself far enough from the camp that they couldn't see her, yet close enough so she wouldn't lose sight of them. Kyvan would be taking the first watch, it appeared.

The prince held a torch in one hand, tapping the end of it against the huge tree she resided upon. Irritated, Shyvana frowned at the prince.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Talk," the prince said as loud as he could. "You were… quiet. Is something wrong?"

"No," she lied promptly.

"You weren't like this yesterday,"

"I only met you like, a few days ago. What do you know about me?" she snapped at the prince. Hoping that he would go away.

"We fought together," Jarvan's voice rose, as though he was angry. "We almost died, and you still don't trust me?"

"And why would you want me to trust you?" she shouted. She could feel flames tingling at her fingertips. "Why are you so keen on helping me?"

"Do I need a reason to help someone?" he fought back. "I can't watch you get slaughtered by a pack of desert monsters, it's against human nature,"

She sneered. "Human nature is to _kill,_ when will you ever understand?"

He did not answer.

It was quiet for a long while, and Shyvana thought of leaning back and closing her eyes, before she heard the prince letting out an exasperated sigh.

"You're right," the rage earlier was gone, replaced by a defeated voice. "If not, Noxus and Demacia wouldn't be at war. I wouldn't have led my men to their graves,"

She almost felt pity for him, but she was too angry to care.

"I just… I want to go home," his voice did not sound haughty or confident like a prince should. Instead, it was scared and conflicted, as though he could be dead tomorrow, or the day after. "But I also want a moment of peace. My family has been against Noxus ever since my ancestor was born, and until now we're still fighting that war. I am tired, Shyvana. I want to go back, but I can't. They will want me to keep killing, until Noxus is wiped off the map. They have been wanting that since I was born. It's like I've done nothing in my life, except kill, and kill, and kill,"

She pressed her head against the cold branch, listening to the prince's lament. He sounded just like her – lost and in need of guidance, yet there was no one there to help.

"So I wanted to help you," he laughed lightly, though it lacked humor and sounded bitter. "I want to redeem myself, by doing something good for myself. You were right from the start. It was solely for my own benefit. What are humans – if not selfish?"

Shyvana pressed her lips in a thin line. "Nasus told me… about your offer,"

He was quiet for some time, before answering. "He did?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "But why?"

"Let's assume if we all survive in the end. What are you going to do after we have slain the drake? Where will you go? As I recall, you roamed the world with your father,"

Shyvana did not reply. To be honest, she had never thought about what happens after that. That was if she survived taking down the drake.

"I want to give you a home," he said. His voice was kind and sincere, and Shyvana wanted to believe him. "I want to give you a purpose, that life is still worth living. When I see you, I see an angry half-dragon hungry for vengeance, but beneath that, I know you are much more,"

She breathed shakily. "You overestimate me,"

"Perhaps, or perhaps not," the prince said. "Take some time and think about the offer. Once you've been accepted into Demacia, you won't have to hide anymore. Remember this, Shyvana. My past haunts me as much as yours do,"

He started walking away, his armored boots making soft squelching noises on the muddy ground. Before he stopped.

"By the way, you still owe me a whole night of ale," he chuckled and returned to his camp.

Shyvana only growled, hating him again.

* * *

To be honest, she doubted that she had ever been this scared in her life.

She could not see what was ahead of her. It was all darkness, and she could only keep walking, her hands groping around blindly before her. _How could it be this dark? Am I blind?_

Deep within her mind, she swore she could hear a wicked laughter. The silence around her was so strong and thick, it drove her mad. It woke all the fears and dark thoughts that resided deep inside her. She was growing paranoid. Where was she? Why was it so dark, and so quiet?

She opened her mouth and shouted for her father, for Jarvan, for anyone. But no sound reached her ears. And she was truly afraid. She wanted to lay down and weep. She wanted to beg and plead and scream for someone to help her. But here she was, weak and robbed of hearing and sight.

_I don't want you anymore._

The voice was a slight whisper of the wind, but she heard it just right. She looked up, though she was still looking at the darkness, she swore the unknown voice came from there. Her breathing came in short gasps, knowing that she recognized that voice, but she chose to deny it.

_I don't want you anymore_, it repeated, this time louder. The voice was feminine and harsh, and it was the last thing she ever wanted to remember.

_I want a child who is purely human, who does not have blue-grey scaly skin or golden eyes._

And when she could finally see, she was met with her mother's face. All this while she had remembered her to be angelic and kind, even after she had chased her out of her own house. But now her face was twisted and distorted, tainted with pure hatred and disgust. Her lips were fixed with a hard grimace.

"Mother-"

_Get out! _Her mother shouted. Her voice was not melodic like she remembered. It was bitter and hoarse, full of discontent with her.

She stumbled backwards, and her back crashed into someone else's chest. When she turned, her stomach turned inside out.

_It was your fault,_ three blackened corpses stood before her, their gnarled and charred fingers curling and uncurling slightly. They were still wearing their armor, but it was now charred and melted, fusing with their burnt flesh. _You could have prevented it, we could have been alive. Everywhere you go, death follows. _

"No," she gasped. Her hands were trembling violently, and she felt sick to the core. "You were going to betray us, turn us in. You wouldn't have died if you hadn't done that to us,"

_There's no _us _anymore._

That old and weary voice made her heart lurch with hope, yet her heart sank when she saw him.

Her father stood in his dragon form, proud and elegant. But his scales and hide were matted with dark, dried blood. His head and neck was bashed open, revealing the bloody entrails beneath. There were hundreds of gashes on his body, the largest underneath his belly.

_You never listened, _his lips moved ghastly. _You were stubborn, I died for you. And you let him get away._

"No, I'm going after him. I swear I will –"

_It won't work. You won't survive the journey. Two more will die, and you wish to drag the prince into this mess you've made since you were born? Everywhere you go, death follows. Even to those who are close to you._

"I will fix this!"

A deep chuckle rumbled, and she could not pinpoint the exact location of the voice. "_Will you?_" it said.

"_Ain't it a pain, child?_" it asked, its voice laced with mirth. "_To see the ones you love perish before you?_"

Her father, mother and the triplets vanished, leaving her in darkness again.

"_Do you hunger for revenge, child? Every suffering is a hunger, and I can help you satiate it. Tell me. Tell me what you starve for,_"

Her breathing came in short pants, but what it said struck truth. From sadness and grief, her rage flared. She clenched her fists tightly, feeling tempted to ask for what she wanted.

_Vengeance, _her heart urged her to say it, to give in to her desires. _And power to vanquish my foes._

But she reined in that desire, gritting her teeth with frustration. It didn't feel right, being offered help like that. That voice laughed.

"_Boy oh boy, ain't you stubborn, child,_" it growled. "_Nothing escapes hunger. The only real sin in life is to deny a craving. Do you wish to see the prince mutilated like your father?_"

Her eye twitched violently.

"_Tell me your suffering,_" it persuaded. This time its voice was laced with charm, and she was finding it difficult to resist. "_Misery is but a banquet for me, and your troubles are mainly just the dessert,_"

"How will you help?" she asked. "I can't even see you. I don't even know where I am,"

"_The world's one river, and I'm its king. The river moves with me, and swallows all that is given,_" it chuckled. "_Fate has let us meet, child. I believe I am destined to assist you. I will fill your starvation. I can gift you with immense power, a meal that you'll feel so satisfied, you won't ever be famished again,_"

"How can I trust you?"

"_I can give you what the prince can't, child_," its voice was getting irritated, as though it was running out of patience. "_Why believe in a mundane prince, when I can grant you your wish instantly? All you have to do, is let me in,_"

It was tempting. Desires are a human's greatest weakness. But she's only half-human.

"Your offer moves me," she hissed. "But I don't trust a stranger who strikes a deal within the dark,"

Surprisingly, the creature snarled and hissed. And she was suddenly embraced by a blast of bright light.

* * *

Shyvana's eyes shot open, and she quickly sucked in a few breaths of air. She was frightened when her surroundings were dark, until she could make out the silhouette of trees nearby.

"A dream," she convinced herself, though her hands wouldn't stop shaking. "Just a dream,"

That was when she realized she was no longer leaning against a branch on a tree. Instead, she was on her feet, standing rooted to the ground. She stilled her breathing, and her ears picked up the faint rush of a river right in front of her.

Had she been sleepwalking?

_The world's one river, and I'm its king._

What if it wasn't just a dream?

_All you have to do, is let me in_.

That dream unnerved her. And she couldn't help but feel threatened by the river.

"Tyson," a slurred, yet furious voice spoke, and it startled her. "You bastard, I thought we were brothers. I will strangle the life out of you. I will,"

It took her a while to recognize that voice. Kyvan.

She turned when she heard a rustle of leaves. Another figure trudged in the dark, like a mindless man. "One more try," Lance mumbled desperately. "Just one more try, maybe I'll be lucky this time. Please, I need money. I'm hungry,"

To her west, a loud, hateful cry sounded. It declined into a harsh whisper, then angry rambling, then rose into a full-fledged battle cry.

"_To war!_" August roared. "Kill those Noxian dogs!"

Besides Kyvan, Lance and August's voice, the forest was silent as a graveyard. They couldn't have been ambushed.

The stifling sound of a cry made her turn, and she could see the outline of a young lad. Alfie, whose form was slowly lumbering ahead. "Sweet sister… I will find it... The cure. You will be healed, I promise," he broke down into quiet sobs again.

And behind her, Jarvan snarled.

"For fuck's sake, father," he hissed. This was unlike him, he sounded angry, resentful, and greedy for something. "How am I not worthy? I will lead my own troops and take down the Noxian camp. I _will _show you. If Swain appears, I'll just cut down his head and give it to you,"

The arrogance and greed in his voice scared her. This wasn't the kind prince who felt responsible for the death of his men, nor the warrior who stood side-by-side with her, facing the terrors of the desert.

She wanted to produce a small mote of flame to see what was happening, but she was afraid to attract the attention of whatever that was in that river.

That river.

_The river moves with me, and swallows all that was given._

Shyvana felt a shiver down her spine.

_Nothing escapes hunger. The only sin in life is to deny a craving. _

_Hunger, _she thought, and her mind clicked. And suddenly, it all made sense.

Whatever the men muttered just now, she could not understand. But what she knew was that they all desired something, as if they all had a hunger for something.

It wasn't just a dream. It was a trap. Shyvana had woken up in time, but Jarvan and his men had fallen for the bait.

And they were walking towards the river.


	12. Chapter 12: Sacrifices

**Chapter 12: Sacrifices**

For the first time since her father's demise, Shyvana panicked. She had no idea what to do, or what forces of evil she was dealing with.

So she followed her instincts, and did the first thing that came into her mind. The half-dragon turned her panic into rage, allowing herself to be engulfed by her own flames. Her eyes glowed red-hot as her fists shot forward, a large spire of flames spewing forth.

It struck the bank of the river, and even if Shyvana did not hit the intended target, the loud blast was enough to wake the forest up. Even those who slept like a log.

The blast was so loud it made her ears ring, but Shyvana swore she heard a shriek somewhere, as though its concentration was disturbed.

Fortunately, the five men had stopped walking towards the river. As if a curse lifted from their possessed bodies, they all toppled to the floor harmlessly, oblivious to the danger they had walked into.

Shyvana walked up to Jarvan hurriedly, her dragon senses were triggered to the extent that she could see her surroundings without a strain. She grabbed the prince's shoulders and started shaking violently, urging him to wake up.

"Hey, wake up," Jarvan only mumbled in his sleep and tried to swat her away. Frustrated, Shyvana pulled her fist back and punched him right in the cheek.

The effect was instantaneous. Jarvan's eyes shot open, and they were full of anger. "Hey, what the fuck –"

"We have to go," Shyvana said quickly, walking over and kicked August in the side. The soldier jumped to his feet immediately, his crazed eyes full of bloodlust and fear. "Whatever you see and hear in that dream, it's a trap. This place isn't safe, we have to –"

"_Who _do you think you are?" Jarvan snarled at her. His fists were clenched tightly, and they were shaking. Shyvana looked at him with shock, suddenly not knowing who this man was.

"Jarvan –"

"Noxus' pet," he spat. "Aye, that's what you are," he reached into his back and unsheathed a dagger. Jarvan's eyes were full of greed and pride and madness. And he could possibly hurt her very, very badly.

"Sister…" behind her, Alfie wailed. She chanced a look behind and saw the poor lad curled into a ball, his fingers clutching something that she couldn't make out. He sounded pained, and hopeless. "I'll find you a cure. There will be no pain. No more. I promise,"

"You cheated!" Lance roared viciously, flailing his arms at nothing in particular. "I saw that card! I was going to win! You liar… Charlatan…. _You fucking cunt!_"

"Eyes on me, Noxian!" she turned back quickly, glancing nervously at Jarvan. "Or are you just a craven, looking for an escape?"

"Jarvan," she raised her arms in surrender. "Someone's messing with your mind. Wake up, this isn't you,"

"_You _are the one messing with my mind," he hissed. "Once I kill you, each and every one of you, I'll reclaim my right. I am the _prince_! The prince of Demacia!" with that, Jarvan charged forward, with the dagger raised.

Shyvana quickly sidestepped, grabbing his arms to restrain him. Jarvan slammed his shoulder into her chest, knocking her to the ground. She wheezed painfully, and locked arms with the prince, the dagger just a few inches away from her eye.

_Why are you fighting it? _A voice echoed in her mind. It was sweet and comforting, imploring her to follow its wishes. _How easy would it be to give in? You will suffer no more, child. Your pain ends here. Why struggle?_

"You aren't the boss of me," she growled, and rolled to the side just as the dagger plunged into the soft soil. Acting on her instincts, Shyvana slammed her gauntlet to the side of Jarvan's head. The blow threw him backwards, and Shyvana thought she saw his eyes roll back into his head.

Shyvana panted heavily, her hands trembling. The prince groaned in pain, finally coming to his senses.

After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes. She sighed in relief when his eyes weren't full of rage or clouded by madness. He stared at her with a bewildered look. "Shyvana? Wait, where am I?"

She opened her mouth to answer when suddenly a pair of meaty arms swung over her neck, having her at chokehold. She grunted and coughed, her hands clawing at the arms and her gauntlets gorging deep marks into the flesh. Yet, her assailant seemed unfazed.

"August!" Jarvan rushed to his feet, his head wound forgotten. Shyvana hissed and gagged, trying hard to breathe. But the arms around her neck were too tight. "Let her go, August!"

"Let go of this bitch?" August tugged his arms harder, and Shyvana continued to struggle. Her lips were turning pale, and anytime she could be strangled to death. "She _killed _my daughter! You ask me to let go of her?!"

"August," Jarvan lowered his voice to a whisper. "It wasn't her. Whatever Alice did–"

"_Don't say her name!_" his hold tightened, and Shyvana gurgled painfully.

"Whatever she did, the justice was done. She was hanged, remember? At the square of Justice Gate. She's dead. You watched her die," Jarvan's cool stare was fixed on August's. "The one you're holding, she's a friend. The past is the past, don't dwell in it,"

Shyvana still struggled feebly, but she was surprised when August sniffled. Slowly, the chokehold around her weakened, and Shyvana used her remaining strength to push herself away from August. She stumbled to the floor in front of the prince, her throat wheezing and making raspy noises as she took in a lungful of air.

August sobbed, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably as he sank to his knees.

"What the fuck happened?" Jarvan rubbed his sore temple, already swollen and pulsing in pain. Shyvana was still breathing hard, her breaths shaky and her voice hoarse as a sandpaper.

"We have to…" she coughed. "We have to go. Grab your men, we have to leave. _Now,_"

"_Why run when you can take what is yours?_"

Alfie's wailing stopped. Lance stopped yelling. August rose to his feet, his tears gone and his eyes seething with anger.

Jarvan's eyes were distant, looking past her. Shyvana stared at the river. A huge lump of shadow rose from the waters beneath the river. And its song was the soft tingling notes of a songstress – melodic and mesmerizing, seductive and enticing.

"_Your bruised soul seeks fulfilment. I mean to end its hunger. Come, come to me,_"

The men started walking towards the river. This time they were awake, yet they had no control over their feet. Jarvan looked back at her regrettably, and Shyvana knew that it had something to do with the voice of the beast they were listening to. It was like a delicious poison, urging them to walk into their own deaths.

Once again, Shyvana wondered how was she not affected. Do humans listen to their desires so easily?

"Jarvan -"

"I'm sorry," the prince sounded sincere and hurt. "I just can't resist it. The offer is too good to refuse,"

"Everyone! Cover your ears!"

She whirled back to see who it was, and fortunately she clamped her hands over her ears. Half a second later, a loud, booming _clank _resonated in the forest, shaking leaves and weeds, drowning out the sound of the beast from the river. Even with her ears covered, her ears rang with a buzzing sound, and she was met with the sight of Kyvan holding August's mace over his steel tower shield.

"Put this on," Kyvan walked over, and pushed something tiny into her palm. They were two soft studs made out of wax. He headed over to Jarvan and his men, temporarily deaf by the loud noise earlier, and he quickly stuffed the studs into their ears. "Ear wax," he yelled, unable to hear his own voice as his ears were covered. "Whatever it is, its voice is its power. Just don't listen to it,"

She placed one in her ear. "You were affected earlier. How did you escape?"

Lance was still groaning like a drunkard even after Kyvan gave him his swords. "What?" he removed a stud, and Shyvana repeated her question again.

"Everyone has his demons," he threw the mace to August, and he caught it in his hand deftly, already out of his trance, though their ears were still deaf and ringing. "I just managed to overcome mine in time. Though I was caught off guard at first," Kyvan placed his stud back in place again. "Lead the way, half-dragon, but avoid the river,"

Jarvan and the men followed close behind Shyvana, each time glancing behind their back warily. The wax managed to block out any sources of noise, yet they could feel some eerie presence creeping upon them. The half-dragon weaved and trudged through bushes and around streams, relying on her dragon senses.

_Where are you going, half-dragon? Coming for the buffet?_

Shyvana gasped. She whirled around and thought she saw a figure moving away. Her senses dimmed, and her heart thundered with the growing fear and paranoia within her.

If it could project thoughts into their minds, they would be doomed.

She was so caught up with her thoughts that she did not realize how damp the hem of her cloak had become, or how she could feel splashes underneath her boots. She stopped and frowned, lifting a boot and brought it upon the ground again.

_Splash!_ It was subtle, yet noticeable.

_Water? All around us?_

A tiny ember flickered to life at the tip of her finger, and when she glanced around her, it was full of water. It wasn't possible, she had avoided the rivers. How could she still lead them right into a stream without knowing it?

Unless she had led them into a swamp, and she had sprung the trap.

She removed her ear wax without a second thought. "_Head back!_" she shouted, but it was too late.

On the ground between her and the prince, it split like a cliff within seconds. The first thing she saw was a large abyss, filled with rows of teeth and a long, pink tongue. It burst out of the ground and snapped its jaw shut, grunting when it missed its prey.

"_Give me some!_" the beast snarled in fury, its tongue lashing out to capture the half-dragon. Shyvana hopped away just in time, and waved her hands frantically at the prince. "Spread out! Hide!" she roared, hopefully they caught what she was saying.

The men understood, turned into different directions and began sprinting away. Shyvana lit herself on fire, distracting the glutton. And when the forest was brightened up slightly by her flames, she took in the appearance of the entity before her, or perhaps she should say, a _demon._

There wasn't much that could be seen, except that it had a large, bloating belly and a massive mouth that could possible swallow a few cows at once. Its body was green, and water dripped all over him. Its clothes were tattered and yellowed and torn everywhere, as though it had spat out the outfit of its prey after swallowing the victim. Its eyes were raged, and filled with traces of gluttony.

"_Hungry,_" it snarled. "_A dragon?_ _You will prove quite magnificent upon my dinner plate,_"

"Don't bother, my tainted blood will give you an indigestion," she taunted and shot a fire ball forward.

The demon unhinged its jaw and dashed forward, swallowing the flames entirely. Shyvana had to dodge before it ate her. And when it closed its jaws, it only belched, a plume of smoke drifting out of its mouth.

"You can enter others' dreams and lure them into your territory," she extinguished her flames, hiding in the dark. "Not even a powerful mage can do that. What are you, a demon?"

It laughed, the sound demonic and wicked. "_I was called many names, child. But does it matter? The river forgets the names of the drowned. I merely feed on other people's pains and woes. I fill in their foibles where they cannot, and give them temporary satisfaction,_"

"And you eat them,"

"_That's the way of the world, child,_" the demon walked closer. "_I strike a bargain too good to refuse, and they accept. I give them what they want, then I devour everything. The strong feed on the weak, half-dragon, you know that,"_

"Right," Shyvana toyed with a ball of flames in her palm, growing larger and larger. "But sometimes the weak fight back," she slammed her fist into the ground, the ball of fire exploding upon the surface of water and spraying droplets everywhere. Mist and wisps of smoke shrouded the air, and the forest quickly dimmed again.

"_That trick again?_" the demon chided. "_None of your toys and tricks can hide your cravings, half-dragon!_"

She ignored him. Turning on her heel, she ran deep into the swamp, not even dare to look back.

* * *

He did not know how far he ran, or how long he had been running. The moment he saw the silhouette of a massively hollowed dead trunk covered with moss and fungi, Jarvan slid into it. He was panting so heavily that he thought he might hyperventilate.

The prince leaned against the damp trunk, his legs curled up due to the small space inside. He placed his lance beside him, closing his eyes for a brief moment and thought about his next course of action.

But most of all, he was worried about her.

She had done it again, willing to give herself up to make sure they could escape. And this time he listened to her, running as fast as he could without hesitation. Whatever that giant catfish demon was, the prince had a feeling it was worse than what they had faced in the desert. At least with Rek'Sai, they could fight her with brute force, relying on their strength and power.

What he faced earlier was an entity capable of twisting your thoughts, waking your deepest fears and desires, whispering sweet nothings into your ears, making sure that you take the bait. That alone scared him, and he didn't have to think to understand that he was no match for this monster.

The dream he had earlier… He heard a sweet, cooing voice, tempting him with gifts and promises. He easily fell for it. His past was his greatest weakness, and that demon used that against him.

Jarvan shuddered just thinking about it. And now he felt guilty of leaving Shyvana alone to outsmart the beast.

_She'll make it, _he assured himself. _I know she will._

Then he thought about his men, and hoped that they found somewhere safe to hide. What August did earlier, unsettled him. He never knew if August had truly got over the death of his daughter, but he knew that his hatred for the murderer will always be burning. So did his hatred for Noxian spies.

Jarvan reached into his ear and loosened the ear wax, feeling his ear pop as sounds started rushing in. Wearing the ear wax for such a long period of time can be quite uncomfortable, and he heard for footsteps of his men, hoping they were close.

When he heard the familiar melody again, he quickly stuffed it back in, blocking all the sounds.

_Shit_, Jarvan pressed his back hard against the trunk and held his breath. The slight tremor of the ground hinted that he was near, and Jarvan was afraid that if he breathed or make a slight movement, the monster may hear him.

He could hear _nothing, _he was blind as well as deaf. And he could only depend on the quakes the monster made whenever it lumbered around.

He felt one, two and three thumps. Then nothing.

It felt like forever before the prince allowed himself a sigh of relief. His heart still hammered hard against his chest, threatening to burst free from its cage with anxiety. His grip on his lance tightened and loosened, trying to ease his trembling.

A huge force crashed into the trunk he was in, and Jarvan could not understand what happened until he realized that half of the trunk had been demolished completely, splinters and sharp pieces of wood raining down his side. With instincts taking over, the prince scrambled frantically to his feet, one hand wielding his lance and another hand holding against the trunk, trying to balance himself.

Before he could get out of the trunk though, it was suddenly lifted into the air, sending the prince crashing around in the remains of the hollowed trunk. His hands grasped desperately for purchase, and when his fingers felt the end of the trunk, he dragged himself forward and threw himself out into the surrounding.

Jarvan crashed into the muddy waters, just as the trunk was hauled towards a large boulder and smashed into bits. The prince did not look back, hastily rushing to his feet and sprinted forward, not caring if he got lost in the swamp.

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, and could feel the air above his hair whisper when a huge tongue lashed out at him. He weaved through trees and boulders, and finally came to a stop behind a large tree, panting heavily.

This time he took out one of the ear wax, hoping to hear the demon's thunderous footsteps. This time there was no siren's song, only the deep thud of distant footsteps.

_That was close, too close,_ the prince grimaced in thought. _No such luck next time. _

He chanced a peek from the side of the boulder when suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder firmly. The prince whirled, with his lance ready, almost impaling whoever it was until Kyvan blocked it with his tower shield.

"My prince," Kyvan whispered, grabbing Jarvan's wrist before he could attack again. "It's me, Kyvan. We have to go,"

"Go? Go where?" there was no stars or moon that night to guide their path, and they had no idea which direction to run to.

"Anywhere but here," Kyvan looked back frantically. "I have scouted this area, as quick as I could. Further down from here is a dense forest, where the swamp ends and approaches the highland,"

"What of the others?"

"I've told August and Lance, they knew where Alfie was hidden. And Alfie will be near the end of the swamp, as our support in case the beast follows us. They have a plan, Lance is good with explosives,"

"What about Shyvana?"

Kyvan scoffed. "The half-beast? What about her?"

"We can't leave her behind, Kyvan, she can't face that _thing_ alone,"

"She just did, and I don't know what happened," Kyvan licked his lips nervously. "She could be dead, eaten by the beast. Or she could be hiding. Isn't that what she's good at?"

"We can't _leave _her," Jarvan insisted. "We promised her to help her complete her quest,"

Kyvan's brows furrowed, and his expression changed into anger and irritation. "_You _promised her, Prince Jarvan. We made no such promises. And she led us right into the demon's lair. What has she done to deserve your respect?"

Jarvan wanted to shout at him that she had nearly died in the desert just to make sure they had got out alive. Before Kyvan interrupted hastily.

"This isn't your war, Prince Jarvan," Kyvan emphasized his title. "Your war is in Kalamanda, alongside your father. Your home is in Demacia, not somewhere out in the wilderness, nor with the half-dragon,"

The prince could not think of a proper response. What he said, stung him.

"I volunteered for this journey because I swore an oath. August and I were part of the Elite Guard, but we carry that oath to our graves. We promised to bring you home, back to Demacia, and we will do that no matter the sacrifices. We will kill one of our own, or leave the half-dragon to die if it means to get you home,"

Jarvan was dumbstruck by what he said. But he was determined. He will not leave her behind to fend for herself. No one had to die, and Jarvan was sure of that.

"I swore an oath too," Jarvan said carefully, staring Kyvan in the eyes. "I swore to her that I will show her, not all humans are selfish and bloodthirsty. I want her to trust me. I can't just leave her behind. You asked what the half-dragon did to deserve my respect. She offered to die in the desert just so we could go back to Demacia, is that not enough?"

Kyvan did not answer. He ground his teeth with silent fury, his jaw set and his eyes burning with anger.

"Go, Kyvan. Leave a trail. I will make it out alive, I promise,"

He did not say another word. Kyvan hefted his shield over his back, and began his way out of the swamp. And Jarvan couldn't help but feel rejected – his men had never turn their backs on him, not even once.

* * *

She was reminded of how she and her father had played hide-and-seek when she was only three. She would hide behind boulders and inside the bushes, giggling uncontrollably whenever her father came looking for her. He would always pretend not to hear her, then burst through her hiding place and lift her high into the air, before settling her down on his broad shoulders.

Now she was doing the same thing, except that she wasn't giggling at all, and whatever that found her wouldn't happily lift her into the air and place her on its lumpy shoulders.

She swallowed hard. Shyvana managed to dig a tiny cavern underneath a boulder that was large enough to hide her if she curled into a ball. She cloaked herself with a branch of leaves, hoping that the demon would not walk past her.

Luck was against her that day.

"_This game bores me,_" it grunted. A loud groan of an uprooted tree answered his wrath. "_I did not expect cowardice to be one of your traits, half-dragon. I find your attitude rather repulsive,_"

_Well, fuck you,_ Shyvana cursed in her mind.

"_My banquet is still empty!_" it roared. Then the sound of something hard crashing against a tree. "_And I thought the humans would make an exquisite feast! I had enough of critters and mudfish! Where are you humans?_"

She wondered if the prince and his men managed to get out of the swamp. Perhaps when dawn broke, this demon would have no choice but to leave. But it appeared that dawn was still a long time to go.

"Hey, fat-ass!"

Quickly the demon turned, and Shyvana's eyes widened in shock when she saw Jarvan facing the demon gallantly, both hands on his lance, as though he was ready for battle.

She couldn't decide if the prince was brave, or bravely stupid.

"I heard you're looking for me," the prince huffed proudly. "So here I am. Your meal. But you'll have to fight me to get it,"

The demon bellowed with fits of laughter. "_Fight you? Why fight you when I can just hum my song, and let you walki right into my jaws? If you think pride is something I desire, it's not. Your foibles matter to me more than my pride,_"

Jarvan smirked, his posture full of confidence. "You have seen my mind, my dreams. You know what I want,"

This time, the demon did not laugh. It studied the prince carefully, its beady eyes unblinking.

"I fight for glory. And if I die heroically in battle, singers and poets will sing about the brave prince who battled a demon, even though he knew he had no chance of winning," Jarvan raised his lance. "If I lose, I will be your food. If I win, my hunger is satisfied, and the deal is done. And I will pay the price then,"

The demon considered this carefully. "_Fair deal, prince_," Without a warning, it lashed out with its tongue, the impossibly elastic flesh whipping forward with quick speed and snapped the water as the prince rolled to the side.

With that, the prince charged fearlessly. The demon withdrew its tongue, ready to face the prince who was so eager to die.

"Shit!" Shyvana exclaimed, and burst forth from her hiding place. Her gauntlets burnt hot with flames, as she dashed towards the self-proclaimed River King. The demon must have anticipated her, for it turned swiftly, attempting to clasp her with its tongue.

The half-dragon ducked, the flailing tongue missing her just by an inch. She threw her gauntlet upwards with an uppercut. Her metal fist connected with the demon's jaw, and a sickening crunch could be heard. Yet, the demon let no cry of anguish, but responded by widening its jaw and tried to snap her neck off.

She swiftly ducked again, the demon's jaws snapping shut right above her head. Through the gap between the demon's fat thighs, she skidded forward, rushing to the prince.

"Shyvana," Jarvan started, lowering his lance. He did not cower at her seething glance. "Kyvan found a way, we have to –"

"What the _fuck _do you think you are doing?" she snapped. "Do you want to die?!"

Jarvan was taken aback by her response, before his face turned into rage. "I saved your sorry ass, you can thank me later,"

"_I don't need saving!_" Shyvana roared and blasted a fireball at a random tree, and it sparked into flames immediately, illuminating the dark swamp.

She watched as Jarvan's face morphed from anger to confusion, then to panic. When she looked behind her, she understood why.

The demon had unhinged its jaw, and was dashing towards them at quick speed. Shyvana raised her gauntlets in defense, and summoned her flames to surround her, even though she knew deep inside that there was no way they could defend themselves against such an attack. It would swallow them both, at once.

A bright, golden light engulfed her, and strange markings seared and engraved itself into the muddy riverbeds. When Shyvana looked behind her, Jarvan had raised his hand in concentration, channelling his energy into his shield.

The demon's jaw struck the shield with such force that it forced them to their knees. The shield dimmed, and shattered just as it withdrew.

Jarvan gasped and fell on his hands and knees. He clutched his chest and heaved painfully, his cough spluttering as red droplets stained the water beneath him.

Shyvana did not think twice and pulled on Jarvan's arms, hasting him to climb to his feet. The demon had unhinged its jaws again, aiming its huge abyssal mouth in their direction. Jarvan grunted with pain, his knees shaking violently as he tried to stand.

The River King lurched forward, and Shyvana knew that they would never make it.

Out of nowhere, a large man with a tower shield burst through the bushes. His eyes were crazed and hungry for blood, and when he roared a battle cry, it frightened even the crows, sending them flocking through the night. He lifted the beastly shield with might, and bashed the shield right into the demon's side.

"I will show you what a real feast is," he lifted his shield again, and struck the stunned demon in its gut. It grunted piteously. "But you will be the main course served on the banquet table," he bashed again and again, until the demon fell silent. Still, he did not cease his battering. "You dare harm the prince –"

In the blink of an eye, half of Kyvan's belly and right leg were gone. Fresh blood dripped from the torn wound, and his intestines began spilling out of his gored stomach, a half-broken bone of his ribs protruding from beneath the wound.

Jarvan screamed in horror, and Shyvana could only watch, her expression akin to shock and terror.

Kyvan stared with a look of dread plastered upon his face, his shield still raised in midair. He suddenly collapsed on his injured side, his blood quickly staining and spreading in the muddy swamp, his lips turning pale and eyes wide with shock.

The River King rose, its huge teeth gleaming with hints of blood and flesh. "_I don't mean to disappoint you,_" it hovered over Kyvan, who now seemed small like a harmless mouse cowering before a cat. "_But I am always the predator, not the prey_,"

Just before the demon ate him whole, the Demacian soldier shared a pleading glance with the half-dragon, and she understood.

Her muscles pumped with energy, and she quickly dragged the prince to his feet. He was still horrified by what he saw, but his legs worked just as she wanted, as though his mind sensed the danger and urged him to run away. Together, they ran towards the path where Kyvan had emerged.

Halfway through the swamp, Jarvan stopped. Shyvana turned back and was about to yell at him to keep moving, until she saw how shaken he looked.

"We… We have to help him," he blurted out, shaking his head vehemently as though he had lost his mind. "He could be alive. Maybe there's still some part of him left –"

"Jarvan," she said calmly, hoping not to spook the prince. "He can't have survived that. You saw it. He was…"

"No!" Jarvan yelled. She glanced around nervously, but the River King was not in sight. "We have to save him, he needs our help!"

He was about to turn back and walk away, before Shyvana grabbed his shoulders roughly and made sure he faced her. She grabbed both sides of his head, making sure that their eyes meet, and they were so close that she was breathing in the air he exhaled, and it made her lightheaded.

She never noticed how blue his eyes were. But right now, they were filled with anguish and grief and horror, his mind failing to grasp the truth of what he saw.

"Kyvan's dead," she said it true, hoping that the prince would understand. "And if you die as well, you can't avenge the fallen. You will never return to Demacia to carve their names into the pillars of history,"

She cheered internally when what she said seemed to have the desired effect on Jarvan, but she continued.

"You have to stay alive. We have to leave, Jarvan, and I can't do it without you. Lead the way, take us out of here. We will live. We will live to spite those who tried to kill us, that they are too weak to wipe us off this world. Can you understand?"

The prince closed his eyes and breathed shakily. He nodded his head slightly, and Shyvana released her hands. Quickly, he led the way, following the trail that Kyvan had managed to leave behind.

Behind them, trees fell into the water with a loud splash. And it only made them walk faster. The demon was near, and they had no time to lose.

"Where are the others?" Shyvana asked as they twisted and turned through the swamp.

"At the end of the swamp," the shakiness in his voice was gone, yet he still sounded cold and frightened. "They will come to our aid once we get out,"

"_More!_" it bellowed, this time sounding more bloodthirsty and monstrous. It crashed into rocks and trees savagely, knocking them down as it charged into their direction.

"They are there!" Jarvan fell into a full sprint, and Shyvana promptly followed. "Hurry!"

The River King was picking up speed, its jaws wide and dark and daunting. Ahead of them, they could see Alfie nocking an arrow, with its head alight with fire, while Lance and August stood behind him. Dry land, they were standing on dry land.

"Prince!" August barked. "Duck! Quickly!"

Jarvan reached behind and pulled Shyvana towards him, dropping towards the edge of the swamp where the land was dry. Just then, Alfie released the arrow, and it went sailing through the air, leaving a sparked trail.

The burning arrow flew into the demon's mouth. When Shyvana looked up from the ground, the demon's belly and mouth were glowing. Yet it was oblivious to it

Before it could reach the dry land, the River King exploded.


	13. Chapter 13: Drunk Man's Talk

**It's been a while. I know. Sorry for the late update. **

**Thanks to all who have reviewed, left a favourite and followed!**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Drunk Man's Talk**

When they entered the small fishing town, they had to stash away their armor and weapons, and wear their cowl so low that no one could chance a look upon their faces. Especially the prince's. By the time they had approached the town, the sun was awake, already mounting up the hills in the distant sea.

For the whole journey, the men fell silent, and did not talk to each other at all. They never asked about Kyvan's absence, but the prince's look of utter despair was enough to answer their questions on the missing Demacian soldier.

Even if they had managed to fire an explosive arrow at the demon and watch it explode, Shyvana knew that it escaped. Its body could not be found, as though it just vanished amidst the explosion. Or perhaps the explosion was so great it simply blew it into ashes? No, an implosion like that would only blast a body to bits, not strong enough to burn away all its flesh, skin and bones.

How would she know anyway? She never knew much about demons. And the only demons she had ever heard of were the notorious Darkins, and those were probably just children's tales used to scare them in their sleep.

She was now alone with the prince, who was still quiet and mourning for Kyvan, and they made their way down the Noxian harbour where ships and great vessels docked for supplies, relieving goods and preparing for their next voyage. Sailors and freight-loaders heaved crates and sacks of goods off the ships, while their captains stood upon the deck, eyes scanning the crowd in the harbour like the kings of the sea.

She turned to the end of the docks and noticed a small man who sat beneath the shade of a tent, white hair sprouted from his bald hair and lips fixed in a distasteful grimace. He had two armed men with him, mercenaries, no doubt, paid to protect him. The small man eyed the sailors carefully as burly men handed over a stack of documents, together with a small pouch of coins. He would look them over, stamp the documents, slit open the pouch as gold coins came tumbling out, then return them their documents.

"A tax collector," Jarvan whispered, noticing where she was looking. "Come, we have to hurry,"

* * *

"_We're running out of time," the prince said solemnly. They were at the heart of the small, fishing town, with the sun already awake and fishermen and merchants up and about to begin the day. "We have to split up, you three will gather tales and stories around about the northern Noxian territory, Shyvana and I will try to book a passage to the northern harbour,"_

"_Sailors have loose tongues, aye," Lance muttered. _

"_How do we meet up?" August grunted. _

"_Tomorrow, at the hour of the rooster. We meet up at the back of the stables of the tavern, south of August's direction," they all nodded, but none of them turned their heads or pointed in that direction, lest others would see them and be curious of their motives. "If any of us had any message to inform, leave a note on the second teak tree from the right, just behind the brothel,"_

_Shyvana chanced a quick glance at the mentioned tree, and understood why Jarvan would choose that tree. The leaves were dense and covered the whole tree, with a hollowed hole in the centre, just large enough for a fist to fit through. Other trees looked the same, and no one would care to search for valuables hidden in the trunk. _

"_Lance and Alfie will head to the marketplace. August at taverns and whorehouses, drunk men and whores tend to speak without thinking," the men nodded at the prince's orders. "Shyvana and I will head to the harbour, and we'll look for the right ship to get us north,"_

_August frowned, as though he disapproved with the idea, but he said nothing. _

"_Stay at separate inns. Draw no attention. If any Noxian guards ever suspect a thing, blend in," the prince pulled his cowl forward. "Now, go,"_

* * *

"Fresh oysters!" she was broken from her thoughts when a young boy pushing a cart called out. Inside the carts were hundreds of mussels and shellfishes, with a bottle of vinegar at the side. He was pushing it towards them, and looking at them curiously.

"Boy, over here," Jarvan called out with a wave of his hand, his fingers fiddling with a few coins. "I'll pay for two, with vinegar," the boy pried open the shells with a knife, and soaked the flesh within with some vinegar. Jarvan placed the coins in the boy's palm, and gave an oyster to Shyvana.

She looked at the raw meat with a disgusted frown, the strong sour smell of the vinegar filling her nose. Jarvan stared at her, amused, and slurped the flesh as though it tasted heavenly. _Go on, _he seemed to challenge her. She never liked her food raw.

And so she took small bites, wincing at the coldness of the oyster. She did not listen to what Jarvan was saying to the boy, who nodded his thanks when the boy pointed in the opposite direction, before pushing his cart away.

"What?" Shyvana snapped when Jarvan laughed at her. She hated it, the raw stench of the oyster and the sour smell of the vinegar.

"The boy said there is one ship from Bilgewater heading to the northern harbour, taken charge by a man called Markus. Heard he is a greedy man, and loves things that could cost a fortune," Jarvan started walking towards the harbour. "Don't like oysters?"

"I don't like my food raw,"

"That's a pity. Fresh oysters are a true delicacy,"

"We're not here to enjoy some fresh seafood," she growled. "Where will we get the gold, if that's what he wants?"

The mirth in his voice was gone in an instant. "I don't know. Strike a deal perhaps. Maybe we can work on their ship on the way to the north?"

"A prince doing the rough jobs of a sailor?" Shyvana smirked. "That's a sight to behold,"

"I can tie knots faster than you blink," the prince said haughtily, making his way to the ship, its name _Seafarer _painted in large white letters across the hull of the ship. Its mast stood proudly with its sails withdrawn, its massive anchor dropped to the sea. The main deck teemed with activity – young boys sewing nets, a tall gaunt lad counting the stocks while a few burly men carried goods out of the belly of the ship. Sailors rolled barrels and casks down an inclined plank, while a shirtless, tanned man stood near the port, yelling orders at the other men while chewing basil leaves.

"Good day, sir," Jarvan approached him and greeted with a nod. Shyvana pulled her cowl over her face, hoping the shade would hide her unusual skin and eye colour. The tanned man stopped and glared at them, seeing them as nothing but hindrance.

"What is it?" the man barked, spittle of chewed basil spewing from his mouth.

"Captain Markus, is it not?" Jarvan smiled politely despite the captain's rudeness. "I heard that your ship is heading to the north, do you mind if my men and I take a passage upon your vessel?"

"Sorry, ain't pickin' up passengers," Markus drew a knife, pretending to nick his dirty nails with the tip of the blade. "Not unless you've got gold,"

"Please, we really have to get to the north,"

"You can walk there for all I care," Markus said nonchalantly, hitting one of his sailors on the head when a cask nearly tumbled into the sea. "The road to the north ain't easy. Full of pirates and such, huntin' for merchants like me. I ain't doin' this for free, while you travellers eat my food and drink my rum,"

Jarvan's lips were pulled taut, frustration clearly written on his face. "We can work on your ship. Rowing oars, weighing anchor –"

"I have enough men for those jobs, I ain't goin' to need some lackeys like you on my ship,"

Shyvana could feel her patience running out. Her eye twitched with irritation, her hands itching to strangle the hell out of the sailor. It took a lot of effort to keep her rage in check.

Even Jarvan seemed to have run out of ideas, his eyes fixed in a scowl as he thought of something to offer. Markus scoffed rudely, sheathing his knife and turned away from them. The prince panicked, and blurted out in desperation.

"I have something better than gold!"

That caught the sailor's attention, and he whirled around, though his gaze remained annoyed and somewhat unconvinced. Jarvan fished within his tunic, before holding something out before the captain's eyes. Even the sailors who were busy rolling casks and carrying crates stopped to look, some tiptoeing to see what Jarvan had to offer.

In his palm was a gleaming blue jewel, finely cut and well-polished, a work of pure artistic craftsmanship. Its brilliance was almost blinding, capturing and encasing the afternoon rays, hundreds of facets reflecting the light off the surface.

Irritation vanished on Markus' face, replaced by wonder and awe. The gem may be small, only about half the size of Jarvan's palm, but just a chip off the gem could be sold for thousands of gold, if not millions.

"The Demacian sapphire," Jarvan's voice was low, smiling when he noticed the captain's hungry gaze. "Rare and owned only by the nobility and royalty of Demacia. It is said that the Crown Prince himself has one encrusted in his crown,"

Markus stared at Jarvan sceptically. "How do I know that this ain't a forgery? Even so, how does a mere traveller like you come across such a rare gem?"

"I am a collector," Jarvan said smoothly. Even the half-dragon was surprised at how well he could tell a lie. "I go from auctions to auctions across the world to collect rare items. And I'm in a hurry to head to the next auction north of Noxus. Allow my companions and I to board your ship, with two quarters for lodgings along the voyage, and this sapphire is yours,"

"Auctions you say?" Markus narrowed his eyes. "An odd bidder ain't you? A bidder without gold,"

"There are other ways at an auction," Jarvan said dangerously. His patience wore thin, and he was trying very hard not to wring the captain's meaty neck. "I thought you Bilgewatians know better,"

Finally, Markus said nothing.

"Tomorrow morning, before the last light of the lighthouse goes out," Markus pointed to a distant lighthouse at one end of the shore, the stark white tower standing out on a rocky cliff. "Come back here with your companions. I hope there ain't too many of them,"

When he reached out for the sapphire greedily, Jarvan pulled back his hand. The captain glared at the prince, one hand absently reaching for his dagger. "I thought we had a deal!" he growled. The prince's face was hard as stone, betraying no emotions.

"I did," Jarvan said flatly. "Only when we have boarded the ship. If I give you the jewel now, you may leave without us tomorrow,"

The captain let off a disgruntled snort. The ball of his thumb ran back and forth on his dagger's hilt, as he spat out a glob of basil leaves into the sea. "Your wish. Be punctual. I ain't got all day on the morrow," with that he walked away, and the sailors hurriedly resumed their work, pretending to not notice a thing.

Making sure the captain walked far from earshot, Shyvana looked at Jarvan. Where earlier he was confident and optimistic, now he seemed lost, his face a look of being trapped in the distant past. She knew where he got the sapphire from, and she understood why he seemed to regret his choices now.

"You promised him your crown's jewel," it was more of a statement than a question. "You don't have to, maybe there are other ships heading the same way. Maybe they are easier to bargain,"

The prince turned and stared at the _Seafarer_, his lips pressed in a thin, firm line. He was never one to regret the decisions his made, but when he did it was because he had no other choice. But the prince was nothing if not decisive, and was usually adamant with the choices he made. He had promised the captain the Demacian jewel, the one and only symbol encrusted in his crown to deem him as the royal prince of his homeland, and he would give it to him, as mentioned in the deal he struck.

Losing it would mean losing his identity. But after all he was far away from home, almost long enough to forget that he was once a prince. One way or another, he had lost a part of who he was before he departed the gates of Demacia.

"No," Jarvan's voice was strong and firm. "My decision is final. We board the _Seafarer _tomorrow. I'll leave the others a message," He tucked the jewel back into his pack, where his lance, wrapped in rolls of cloth, and other essentials were stored. The prince turned his back on the _Seafarer, _and made his way back to the small, quiet town.

The half-dragon followed close behind. She couldn't help but feel guilty, as though it was partly her fault that the prince had to give up the jewel. As if she had not caused enough tragedy to the homeless prince already, again she had to make him lose parts of himself.

The moment she felt it, she resented those feelings. She is a half-dragon, and dragons feel no remorse. A fearsome warrior is a warrior devoid of feelings, and at this moment she couldn't allow herself to be soft.

Jarvan seemed to know what she was thinking, for he looked over his shoulder and flashed a wide grin. "It's alright. You can make it up to me later. You still owe me ale, remember?"

Sometimes, she hated the cheeky side of Jarvan IV.

He laughed heartily when he saw how bitter her expression was. "We have a whole night. What other ways better to spend it than a good tankard of ale?"

Shyvana scoffed. Together, they headed off to the nearest inn to the port for temporary lodgings. The sailors and other sea merchants still hustled around the port, loading and unloading freight. As they walked out of the harbour, Shyvana couldn't help but feel a chill running down her spine, as though she was being watched closely. Absently, she pulled her hood forward, slumping her shoulders and lowering her head to blend in with the crowd.

Jarvan seemed oblivious to it. The half-dragon chanced a risky glance over her shoulder, and she was met with the keen stare of the shrewd tiny man, the tax collector flanked by two mercenaries. She quickly turned away, hoping that she was only being paranoid.

* * *

The _Gold Digger _inn wasn't crowded, and there were only one or few merchants and sailors, sipping their ale with their heads ducked low. _These are the lives of merchants and travellers, _Shyvana mused. She knew how miserable it felt to miss a home, or not having one at all.

After Jarvan paid for their rooms for a night, they went to the farthest corner of the inn, where they would attract the least attention, and ordered meat and mead for two. A young girl, probably at the cusp of womanhood, came forth carrying a pitcher of ale, curtseying before filling their tankards. Her bright and optimistic features were the exact opposite of the depressing inn.

And of course, Shyvana grumbled, before placing a bag of gold upon the table. The girl said her thanks, and strutted away.

Jarvan sat across the table, his forehead creased as he tried to decipher the coded message Lance and Alfie had left at the teak tree.

"_Guardian's Sea at risk, many Noxian galleys attacked by Bilgewater pirates_," Jarvan mumbled, loud enough for Shyvana to hear. "_High Command is a mess. Kalamanda at the brink of war, security in Noxus tightened._ Doesn't sound good,"

"Nothing has ever been good since you met me," Shyvana said matter-of-factly, and took a swig of ale. She winced. The ale tasted like horse piss.

"You fight like a beast, at least we have a dragon on our side," Jarvan said hopefully, but instantly regretted it when he saw the bitter frown on her face.

"Is that an insult?" she spat.

"I didn't mean it that way," he coughed into his fist. "It's just… There were so many chances where you could run away, you could ditch us in the desert, or when the river demon attacked…"

Shyvana raised a brow questioningly.

"… And yet you didn't. You are ferocious in battle. And we're still alive because of you,"

"You flatter me, prince," the half-dragon laughed humourlessly. "Two of your men died, because my quest led you into a monster's nest, and I walked us right into a demon's maw. And you're thankful of me?"

"Horace went down on his own, we wouldn't have known what was underneath that abandoned village. Kyvan sacrificed himself because he swore an oath to me," his eyes glittered with guilt and grief. "My misleading caused them their lives, it was my fault as much as yours,"

The half-dragon pursed her lips. Beneath the gloomy light of the inn, only her golden eyes shone, her face concealed by the darkness of the hood. "And here we are, two sorry person huddling in a corner, sipping ale in a miserable, broody place,"

Jarvan only smiled, sadly.

They continued drinking, and the young girl kept refilling their tankards with ale. It got to the point when Shyvana had enough of the uncomfortable silence, and how gloomy the prince looked.

"You promised to tell me what happened after you left the military," she said suddenly. Jarvan looked up, his face flushed from the multiple mugs of ale he had had. Even Shyvana could feel her face burning, too.

"Ah yes," he sipped his ale. "Not the moment I was most proud of,"

Shyvana was quiet, as she listened to his tale.

"When I was out of the military, I began thirsting for glory, for battle," he began. "I was often told to lead small skirmishes against Noxian camps in the outskirts of Demacia. Piece of cake. The foot soldiers were no challenge, and their camps' defence was weak as a paper fort. My father would sometimes bring me along to attend diplomatic meetings with officers and envoys from other city-states, but that's not where my interest lays. I kept looking for chances, hoping to strike hard and true at the heart of Noxus, against my arch-nemesis, Jericho Swain.

"I'd never seen my mother once I was released from the military. It hurt to know that she never came once to see me, but I'd never made the move to visit her either. I was too busy killing Noxians, becoming the hero I had always wanted to be.

"Then one day came, when one of the troops from the Rangers were captured and slain by Noxian assassins. A few badly injured survivors managed to make it back to Demacia, their faces battered and full of fear, muttering like madmen, '_Swain is here. Swain is here_'.

"I was haughty, and begged my father to allow me to lead the troops to attack Swain's camp. My father tried to convince me that it could be a trap, a ploy woven by the infamous tactician. He suggested we wait. But I was impatient.

"At night, I led fifty men and headed out to Swain's camp without my father's notice. I remembered how proud I felt, as though I was sure I could take down the Master Tactician so easily. The camp wasn't well-protected. When we were there, we killed the guards, and burnt the supplies. We thought the whole camp was asleep, and proceeded to raze their camp to the ground, until we heard the thundering hooves of the horses.

"From all directions, soldiers and cavalry in green and red headed to the camp from all directions. There was only one exit, the way we came from, and panicked, we ran towards it. But an odd mist shrouded us, and when I looked to the crates of supplies we burnt, I realized those weren't rations, but bottles of green liquid, releasing a hissing smoke as it reacted with heat. One by one, we all toppled to the floor, our minds being put to sleep. And the last thing I saw was the cane and yellow-green robe of my nemesis.

"When I woke, all my men had been killed, their flayed corpses nailed to stakes. I was forced to my knees with my limbs bound, in front of the man whom I loathed and hated. It was all a trick, I realized, a ploy Swain had masterfully put together, to lure me into his trap. And I was too stupid and arrogant to realize that.

"His executioner stepped forth. I believe his name was Urgot, and he was an enormous man, thrice the size of Swain, with scars and stitched skin all over his body. The axe he wielded was almost as huge as he was, and he only held it with one hand. When he was about to execute me, a miracle happened.

"Horsemen raced towards the Noxians, and leading them was my childhood best friend, Garen Crownguard, the Captain of the fear-inspiring Dauntless Vanguard. Their roars and cries of battle were seismic, and I was both awestruck and ashamed. Garen gallantly cleaved Urgot into two, his brave comrades cutting mercilessly through the Noxian ranks, forcing Swain to retreat.

"When I returned to Demacia, with Garen and the Dauntless Vanguard, the townspeople and smallfolk were cheering, but I could see where their stares were. All were calling for Garen's name, for his gallantry and vigour in battle. I failed where Garen succeeded. And my pride was wounded that day," Jarvan stopped, and took a quick swig of ale.

Shyvana's stare was intense, though her gaze were filled with pity, not contempt. "And your father?" she asked.

"Ashamed of me," his hold around his tankard tightened. "He did not even look at me, and when he did, his gaze was full of shame. I was envious of all the attention Garen got, even though he had saved me. I nearly died, and no one cared,"

Shyvana said nothing.

"That night my mother came to see me," he said. "I thought she came to spite me, like others did, even if they did it behind my back. I refused her entry, but she entered my chambers anyway, and I was surprised to see her cry. She pulled me into a hug, saying how sorry she was. That's when I feel guilty. Guilty for being arrogant. Guilty for not listening to my father. Guilty for being jealous of my best friend, where instead I should have been grateful. It should have been me apologizing, not her. That night I felt like a little boy again, within my mother's desperate clutches.

"That was when I swore to myself that I will leave Demacia, to seek atonement, along with twelve men. I vowed to never return until I find myself worthy as the prince of Demacia again. I left in the middle of the night, and before that I left a note for my mother,"

"A note?" Shyvana asked.

"About how sorry I am. That I don't deserve her love and respect,"

"She loves you very much," her voice was hollow, distant, like her mind was trapped somewhere in an unpleasant horde of memories.

"What kind of mother doesn't love her children?" Jarvan said.

_My mother doesn't, _her mind echoed, and her lips curled into a grimace. She forced herself not to think of her, pushing the bitter memories away, yet it kept coming back.

"Let it out," Jarvan said. It surprised her, as though he saw the frustration on her face. "If you bottle it up, it won't do you well. The night is still young, and we have plenty of ale,"

Shyvana brought the tankard to her lips, trying to swallow the bile in her throat. She had never talked about her mother before, except with her father. And at normal circumstances, she wouldn't have told the prince, but the ale muddled her mind, and the words just came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I had a home once," she said, her eyes fixed on her drink. "With my mother and father. My father rarely lets me out of the house, I hardly know why. All I know was I was different from other people, and so was my father. We were very happy together, and I could see how much my father loved her.

"My mother… She was like yours. She sang to me every night when I was two. They were too poor to buy a crib, so every night she cradled me to sleep. I remember everything about her, how soothing the rhythm of her heartbeat was, how soft and loving her caresses were. And in the morning, I would wake up, sandwiched in between my father and mother. Sometimes she would take me to the market, to see the pretty stones and jewels that merchants from all of Valoran brought, or to the forest of apple trees behind our house, picking ripe apples. She always let me have the best ones,"

Jarvan was surprised at how emotional her words were. It was the ale talking, he knew, but he made no mention of it. It was the first, and possibly the last time Shyvana would ever show her vulnerable side to anyone.

"Then one day, she just… chased me out of the house," she said then, her voice sounding so hurt he wished he could comfort her. "My father was away, and she told me to follow him. She just said she didn't want me anymore, I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"

He decided to change the subject – her father, the only one whom she knew will always love her. "Your father… He raised you since then?"

"More than that," she chuckled. "He taught me how to survive, how to fight. That was before we were being hunted by the drake. There was something he told me though, one night when we were at the Kumungu plains,"

"Something inspiring?" he joked.

She continued. "He said, no matter how bad the skies are, dawn will always come. The skies will clear then, and no sadness lasts forever," she laughed bitterly, and Jarvan thought he saw something glittering in the half-dragon's eyes. Tears?

"He lied," her voice shook. "He left me too. He told me I should go to Ionia. We quarrelled over that, I don't want to leave him, the drake will kill him. He will. I snapped at him, yelled at him, and walked away from him. When I came back, he was attacked," her fists were clenched tightly. "And he died horribly. No sadness lasts forever? Misfortune just kept coming, grief is my shadow. Everywhere I go, death follows. And you still think I'm a boon to your company?"

The prince did not say a thing. Their words were already a slur, and Jarvan had no idea how much time had passed. His heart ached for the half-dragon, but there were no words to comfort her. His plight seemed minor compared to hers. This woman had run and hidden for her entire life, and when the only person she relied on was ripped away from her, she could only curse at the gods for such an ill fate.

Shyvana heaved a shaky breath. "I was a mistake. I should have _never _been born,"

"What if I say you're not?" he said without thinking. He didn't even know why he was saying that, all he knew was that he wanted the half-dragon to know that she was not alone, and everyone was born with a purpose.

Her head snapped to the prince, her glare was fiery and full of hatred and anger, her teeth baring. The prince couldn't help but flinch. "Then you're a _fool_, prince. Do you not see this? I'm not someone you should mingle with, every time I told you to leave me be and take your men away, you never listened. What good is a half-dragon to you? Look what happened to those who are around me. I am cursed. Don't you _see_? Or are you blind?"

Oddly, his anger flared as well, and he found himself snapping at the half-dragon. "Is hatred all you see in everything? I've been trying to show you that not all men are selfish. I didn't leave you because I think you deserve to live, or at least die peacefully, not being ripped to shreds by a _fucking _purple monster. I helped you because no one ever showed you kindness, and I wanted to show you that. Perhaps you are just as blind as I am!"

His reply surprised her, but her anger did not diminish. She slammed a fist on the table, and if everyone including the innkeeper hadn't retired for the night, she would have attracted their attention instantly. Her gauntlet nearly snapped the table into half, and her tankard fell to the stone floor with a loud _clunk!_

"Fuck you and your kindness," she growled, though she faltered in her steps as the effects of the drink took place. "You are just showing me your pity, I don't fucking need it. A dragon has no need for kindness or love,"

Jarvan's eyes glowed with fury as well. He stood to full height, his incredible physique obviously dwarfing hers. Shyvana noticed how his fists were shaking with anger at his sides, and how his jaw was clenched tightly. She thought the prince was going to hit her, or at least yell at her that she can go kill the drake herself.

He grabbed her face with both hands, and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

It caught her off guard, and her hood fell back when he pulled her to him, revealing her mane of red hair. Her hands struggled feebly against him, trying to push him away, but the ale weakened her, and soon she was overcome by the prince's fiery passion and gave in.

Somehow it felt right, as though her heart had been longing for him since he fought with her. Was that why she felt guilt, pity and other emotions for this man, while she was cold to the others?

He only kept kissing her, her gauntleted hands soon wrapped around his neck. At that moment they didn't care if they had feelings for each other or not. All they knew was that they wanted each other. Jarvan ran a hand down her back, and pushed her firmly against the wall.

When he pulled back from the kiss, gasping for breath, his smile was devious and smug. "I paid for two rooms. Which one?"

"The nearest one," she replied, and they were locked in a kiss again, stumbling through corridors and pressed against the walls.

All the way, Jarvan kept pressing kisses to her neck and cheeks. "Dragons need no love?" he muttered heatedly. "I'll show how wrong you are," he almost barged into the room when he unlocked the door, and quickly slammed Shyvana against the door roughly when they were behind the closed door.

His hand was going to rip her cloak away, until he saw her flinching, as though shying away from him. He stopped what he was doing, and even in his drunken stupor, Jarvan knew how wrong it was to bed a woman without her consent. His heart dropped, and he pulled back from the half-dragon, suddenly ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I… I shouldn't have – "

The half-dragon's gaze was clouded with lust, and she grinned impishly. "Again," she simply said, and pulled him into a kiss again.

Together, they made their way to the bed.

* * *

**Once again, please leave a review, so that I can learn my mistakes if there are any. I hope you guys enjoy the story so far. Thank you if you do!**


	14. Chapter 14: Ruled By Sins

**If you're expecting a lemon, I'm sorry to disappoint you. This story is rated T for a reason. I'm not good at smut. **

**Thank you to those who have reviewed, favourited and followed. Once again, reviews are very much appreciated! Do let me know if you feel that something's not right. **

* * *

**Chapter 14: Ruled By Sins**

Shyvana woke up with a pounding headache, groaning and mumbling something as she slowly opened her eyes. It was still dark, but the absence of the sound of the crickets could only mean that dawn was almost approaching.

Her hand automatically went to her temple, rubbing it furiously as a deep, throbbing ache resonated behind her eyes. She had no recollection of what happened the day before, except that she drank a lot of ale. What happened after that was a blur, and soon she gave up with an exasperated sigh, leaning her head against the soft feather pillow.

Pillow?

_I'm in an inn? Oh yes, Jarvan and I stayed at an inn. How could I not remember when I went to bed?_

Something felt off, she thought. Shyvana rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm. Something was amissed, but she could not tell what it was.

Then she realized that she wasn't wearing her gauntlets.

She jolted awake instantly, her mind standing on full alert, and she hissed in pain when the area in between her legs throbbed painfully. She found herself covered in a blanket, the morning chill beginning to seep into her bones. Shyvana lifted the flimsy material slightly, chancing a quick peek beneath the blanket. Just as she had suspected, she was naked from head to toe.

The half-dragon panicked, and got up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness around her. She started to see articles of clothing strewn upon the floor in the cold, tiny room – the tunic and breeches she wore yesterday, her terribly-sewn cloak, her dusty travelling boots and finally, her precious pair of gauntlets. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Her relief vanished the instant she heard a groan somewhere in the room. Slowly, she crept to the far edge of the bed, leaning over to the source of the sound. The room was bright enough for her to catch the outline of a figure, heavily asleep on the floor. She noticed the faint rise and fall of the unknown figure's chest, and she lifted a finger, a small spark dancing on her fingertip as she brought it closer to his face.

She almost screamed.

The body shifted again, this time groaning even louder, and she found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes. All she saw was exhaustion in those eyes at first, which slowly dimmed into nonchalance, before quickly replaced by surprise upon seeing the half-dragon. He gave a shocked shout, before jolting awake and sitting up on the cold floorboards.

The prince was naked, just as she was, with only a sheet covering his modesty. He looked down at his bare chest, then at the sight of Shyvana covering her nudity with a blanket. He quickly looked away in embarrassment, not before earning an angry glare from her.

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked angrily, the room suddenly growing warmer.

"You tell me!" Jarvan growled. He rubbed his eyes groggily, still dazed by sleep. Shyvana watched him carefully, deciding if to blast him to cinders or simply punch him across the face, until the prince's eyes widened with clarity, before frowning in regret.

"We drank too much, that's what happened," he sighed wearily. "Can't you remember anything?"

The half-dragon knitted her eyebrows in a furrow and thought for a while. "I only remember drinking plenty of ale, and after that…"

"We argued," he pressed his thumbs against his temple, easing the ache. "Then we just…"

"Oh," the fire in her eyes dimmed as she recollected her memories, and she looked down in shame. "That happened,"

Then they both looked away, anywhere but each other. The silence grew thick and awkward, with the prince and the half-dragon not knowing what to say. It felt like an eternity, before the prince cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have," his voice was no louder than a quiet murmur, but it carried throughout the room nonetheless. The prince had his gaze fixed at the window, where soft silver moonlight streamed through the silk curtains, that dawn had yet to come.

"I gave in to your advances," she admitted shyly. "My fault too,"

"We drank too much," he said. "That's what happened,"

"Agreed,"

They still looked away from each other, both deciding what to do to avoid their current awkward mess. Shyvana turned her back towards Jarvan, her knees drawn up to her chin with the blanket wrapped around her, refusing to believe that yesterday they had acted out of pure passion and desires, or some other emotions that she couldn't name. Yesterday they had too much to drink, and the ale muddled their minds, giving them wrong feelings regarding each other.

But her father had told her once, that a drunk man's actions and speech were often more honest than a sober man's one.

She shook that thought away, and heard a rustle from behind her as Jarvan went around the floor picking up his clothes, scattered across the floor from their activity last night. "We have to meet up before the rooster calls, and I have to check out the lighthouse Markus mentioned," Jarvan announced in his princely voice, all his shyness earlier gone and his confidence returned.

"Right," she blinked away her exhaustion. "I'll go get some rations for the voyage, and possibly some clothes as well,"

"Aye," Jarvan, now fully clothed with his pieces of armour stashed away, stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at the half-dragon. Shyvana instinctively wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, feeling uncomfortable with his stare.

She got irritated with his stare. "What is it?"

"I'm not looking at you," he said, his voice laced with humour. "The bed, I guess we'll have to pay for the damage,"

Shyvana looked down and gasped. Along the sheets of the featherbed were long ridges of scars, with fluffs of feathers spilling out from the gaps. The wooden head of the bed was broken and fallen apart, and the pillow she slept on earlier was almost ripped into half. Not only that, there were signs of burnt cloth as well, the sheets and wooden headboards charred and blackened.

She looked back at Jarvan, arching an eyebrow incredulously, "I did that?"

"Probably," Jarvan mused. "You are the only one with claws here,"

"It could be you as well, who knows?"

Instead of laughing, the prince gave a tired reply. "Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of what I was doing yesterday,"

Shyvana said nothing. She watched the prince heading towards the door, pulling on his cowl before opening the door. It would be dawn soon, and they would have to be quick.

He quickly left, closing the door with a soft thud, leaving the half-dragon still naked on the bed, mulling over the things that had happened.

_That was awkward,_ she thought, and got out of bed.

* * *

Early in the morning and the town was half awake, some sailors preparing for the day's journey and merchants getting ready for the days' sales. The prince walked to the harbour, avoiding the crowd when necessary, and blending in when he spied a few Noxian soldiers in the distance.

His pack held his pieces of armour, and in his hand was his lance wrapped in rolls of linen bandage. He pretended to use the lance like a staff, walking with a limp to avoid attention from others, though it was a very large 'staff' nonetheless.

When he neared the harbour, he was hit by the fresh smell of sea salt, and the soothing sounds of waves crashing against nearby capes. His lance made tapping sounds against the moist, wooden port, muttering apologies whenever he clumsily bumped into merchants and seafarers.

He soon stopped at the end of the port, overlooking a cliff far away, the lighthouse just a white thin tower from where he stood. It was far, but he noticed small flickers of light nonetheless. Lining up the tower were twelve small borderless windows, and now only the highest three were bright with small flickering flames, the other openings dark and dull.

Then one of the flames went out, leaving only two, and the sound of a distant, yet loud bell tolled. The sound carried far into the port due to the silence in the morning, and it was no surprise if they couldn't hear it during midday where the port was at its peak hours.

Jarvan walked away from the port, and watched as fishermen rowed boats out into the sea, preparing for the day's catch. He breathed in the tangy air, feeling much more refreshed than ever, the sore and burning sensation in his muscles during the endless travel finally gone.

Watching the sun slowly mounting up the hills, he couldn't help but think of her. The bright crimson hues of the waking sun almost similar to her hair, its heat as ferocious and fierce as her blazing flames. What he did yesterday was despicable, though it was entirely the ale's fault. And he was guilty about it, yet he did not regret it.

He could not remember much about the deed last night. He only remembered the shape of her lips – so soft for a hardened warrior, so responsive for a woman so harsh and cold, who often betrayed no emotions to outsiders. Jarvan's eyes dimmed at the thought of the kiss, and yesterday sparked something inside him that he couldn't fend off now, and he wasn't sure if it was the ale that played tricks with his feelings and desires, or it was truly his wish to kiss her again.

For the umpteenth time since he had asked her, he wished she would accept his offer and return to Demacia with him. It was difficult to train a warrior who could face death with such finesse and ferocity, and even harder to bring out the natural instinct of a survivor within a soldier. Ever since he met her, she had never failed to amaze him, especially yesterday, when she had revealed her vulnerable side to him. And that was the moment when he realized that she was much more than just an angry half-dragon.

There was another reason as well. One that he was too afraid to admit it.

Before he could mull it over, he caught something peculiar from the corner of his eye. Jarvan remained rooted in his place, not moving and trying his hardest to steal a glance to his right, where he noticed a suspicious armed man who had stopped in one spot for far too long.

The prince turned away and started walking away from the port. Immediately, the man moved as well, walking towards him. Somewhere from the crowd, another man emerged and joined him, in his hand a sheathed cutlass, curved and wicked.

_Whoever these men are, they are not very good at tailing people_, Jarvan thought. He headed towards the spot where the crowd was the thickest, most people already woken up to begin the day. Exiting the harbour, then walking past a few houses, the crowd began to thin, soon he was forced to round an alley to lose the men.

Jarvan pressed his back against the wall, his hand gripping his wrapped lance tightly. He held his breath as he waited. After what seemed like forever, he heard the squelching footsteps of the men upon the muddy ground.

What he did not expect to hear was the sharp, pained cry of a child, and the cruel ring of an unsheathed sword.

"I beg of you! I did not know anything!" the child cried, probably no older than ten. Jarvan thought he sounded familiar, until he recognized the voice. It belonged to the child who sold oysters yesterday, the one who had told him which ship was sailing to Northern Noxus.

"_Nothing?_" the man's sound was gruff and cruel. He spat, and the boy whimpered piteously. "My mate and I saw you talkin' with him. You think us blind? Spit it out, boy! Or my mate here will hurt your Ma, hear me? I heard she's sickly these days. Sick as a dyin' fish," he chuckled.

The prince clenched his fists. He could not risk himself being found, but some innocent boy was hurt because of him.

The boy started crying, his wail long and fearful. The men only laughed wickedly, and sounds of punches could be heard.

He could no longer bear listening to the cruel act of a child being tormented. Ripping the linen cloth away, the prince gripped his lance tightly, and walked out from the alley.

"Stand away from the boy," Jarvan said darkly, his tone brooking no argument.

The men looked up from the beaten child, and when his eyes met Jarvan, the prince felt guilt gnawing at his heart. The poor boy's eye was swollen shut, and he was lying on his back, his bruised and skinned elbows supporting him as he looked to the prince hopefully. There was a cut across his lips, and his nose was bleeding profusely. Instantly, the men drew their cutlasses, the wicked steel gleaming in the light. And one of them grinned savagely.

"Pretending to be a hero, aren't ya? I thought you were a wealthy merchant, not a fighter," a stout man with a single eye spoke mockingly, his glare evil and greedy.

_So they do not know who I am. Good,_ the prince almost smiled, but his face darkened when he looked at the boy again. These men shall be punished for their actions, and he swore he will show them no mercy.

"Your business is with me," he growled. "Leave the boy alone, or are you both cowards that only pick on the weak?"

The short one who had been talking all the time, with his one blind eye and crooked teeth, spat to the floor in front of the prince. He brandished his cutlass and waved it around threateningly, while the other man, a rather tall and muscular brute, only grunted and tossed the boy to the ground, his lips curled in mild disgust.

Without warning, both men charged forward.

Jarvan foresaw this, as they were both sellswords that knew little about skills in duels. He easily dodged the one-eyed man's slash, and parried with the other's cutlass. Both men were caught off guard, and Jarvan quickly slid a foot forward, tumbling the one-eyed sellsword to his knees while he slammed the flat of his lance into the brute's gut.

Not giving them a chance to recover, Jarvan swung his lance around and tried to knock the brute out cold. The stout man blindly lashed out his cutlass, trying to get his friend free. The prince retracted his lance, dodging the brute's careless swings, and brought his lance down to parry the attack, knocking the cutlass out of his hand.

Without hesitation, the prince landed a boot on the one-eyed man's chest, keeping him to the ground as he desperately clawed at Jarvan's boot. The brute, grunting and picking up his mate's cutlass, suddenly dashed forward with a new burst of strength, aiming both his cutlasses on the prince's torso and abdomen. Jarvan acted quickly, kicking his opponent hard in the head, knocking him out; while bringing up his lance to defend himself against the brute's advance. Steel clashed against steel, and both weapons were locked in an embrace.

Jarvan found himself struggling against his strength, as the brute kept pushing him back. He mustered all his strength and pushed forward, resisting the brute's onslaught.

"Nice lance," the brute spoke, and Jarvan wished he hadn't. His teeth were all black and rotten, and when he spoke, he dispelled a breath that stunk as bad as a carton of rotten eggs. And his grin was malicious as poison. "Got it from an auction?"

Jarvan's arms burnt with effort from holding him back. He gritted his teeth, and managed a nervous chuckle. "Aye. Need a closer look?" he roared a battle cry and pushed into the brute's chest, knocking him backwards.

He stumbled backwards, but quickly regained his balance, then lifted both his cutlasses and smirked at the prince, who was panting heavily as his hands shook from the effort. "Name's Vikas, hired sellsword from the Rat Town. You, auctioneer?"

Jarvan snorted. "I didn't ask for your name, and I won't tell you mine,"

Vikas' lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. "It ain't matter anyway. Only the dead needs to remember the name of his killer!" he charged forward again, lifting one of the cutlasses high in the air, descending it upon Jarvan's head. The prince crouched and rolled to the side, evading the sellsword's blade, and thrusted his lance forward. Vikas, with a flick of his wrist, deflected the blow with a strong slash across the prince's lance, the ringing of steel almost deafening.

Where the sellsword lacked of finesse in battle, he had abundant in strength and brute force.

The prince staggered backwards, but the sellsword was relentless. Rushing forward with a sadistic grin, Vikas aimed for his chest, striking the prince diabolically with his cutlasses. Jarvan went into a defensive stance, raising his lance to protect himself from the blows.

One of his cutlasses was blocked, and quickly Vikas raised another, swinging it towards the prince's head. One that was too quick that Jarvan could not duck to evade the blow.

Without hesitation, the prince summoned the Golden Aegis, a sudden burst of energy and magic flowing from his body. The cutlass bounced back harmlessly from the shield, and the sudden burst of energy threw Vikas backwards, his cutlasses slipping from his hands.

The sellsword skidded to a halt, lying upon the ground, grunting painfully as the prince's shield faded.

Jarvan slowly walked towards Vikas, who was still dazed by his shield. He raised his lance towards Vikas' neck, panting heavily from the fight earlier, but the fury in his eyes fuelled his strength, and he needed answers.

Then he felt a sharp jab in his back, then dizziness.

How could he be this careless? There was the stout man that he had neglected, of course, and he made a mistake thinking he was unconscious. The prince looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his wicked grin, wounding him where his colleague had failed to.

Instead, he saw the beaten and bruised boy, looking up at him with frightened eyes, as though pleading him to forgive him. Jarvan let out an astonished gasp, before the boy pulled back, revealing a syringe in his hand. The contents were empty.

Jarvan didn't even know when he fell to his knees. His surroundings begin to swirl, his vision dimming and flashing as though he was in a dream. He felt someone punch him hard across the cheek, but he could barely feel it. He found himself staring at two pairs of boots, and the sounds of someone cursing, though from whom, he could not tell.

Someone pulled his hair back, and he was looking at neither sellswords. Instead, he was met with the face of an old man, his face so pale and wrinkled that he almost looked cadaverous. There was few hair sprouting from his bald head. And it took the prince a while to recognize him.

The tax collector.

"… don't know who you are," his voice sounded addled in his mind, but Jarvan could hear him clearly, though the drug had cut off most of his senses. "But you know how hard life can be in Noxus, and it's no surprise that we reap more than we sow,"

It took him a while to realize that the old man was talking to him, his hair still being pulled backwards by the man. Jarvan mumbled incoherently.

"I'll just cut to the chase," his voice echoed in his mind. It sounded odd, not matching with the movement of the old man's lips. "I saw you yesterday. With that hooded companion. I saw what you took out. Something valuable,"

_Oh, so that's what he wants_, the prince thought, but he was still too weak to move.

"Why give it to the filthy sea dwellers when I can sell it for a high value? Bilgewatians only keep gold, never use them. Noxians are different. We appreciate things of value, and we use that to our own advantage,"

_You disgust me_, Jarvan wanted to spit in his face, but he could only manage a weak grunt. The high pitch wail of the boy pierced the air, and Jarvan found himself worrying for the boy, even though he had just been betrayed by the child he tried to save.

"You promised me! You said you will let me go!"

"What do we do with the boy, m'lord?" it was the shorter sellsword's voice. He sounded serious and grim, only listening to his master's biddings. Unlike earlier, when he had been arrogant and eager to have his way with him.

"He's no longer of use," the old man dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Do whatever you wish,"

_You will leave him!_ The prince struggled, but his hands could only clench and unclench, unable to support his own weight.

"Now, _my lord_," the old man said with a mocking tone. "I know you won't give up the jewel. But I'm sure my mercenary here has a way,"

Behind the old man, Vikas held both cutlasses, the sharp edges reflecting the early sun's rays. He grinned cruelly, and walked closer to the prince.

* * *

_Something isn't right. _

Shyvana strode down the port, already busy as half of the sun had revealed itself. She looked to the lighthouse in the distance – only one candle left. The bell had only tolled a few minutes ago, and she knew they were running out of time, but where was the prince?

At first, she was worried that the prince had betrayed her and ran off without her notice. She could feel anger swelling within her, then she remembered about meeting up with August and the others at the stables behind the aforementioned tavern.

Shyvana quickly made her way to the tavern, drawing her hood over her face and lowering her head when walking amidst the crowd. When she approached the stables, she breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Alfie and Lance already there, chatting while inspecting their weapons. August sat far away from them, looking disturbed.

Shyvana wanted to walk up to them and ask if they had seen the prince, or had the prince met up with them already. But she hesitated. If Jarvan had come to the stables, they would be heading to the harbour already. And Jarvan, as much as she hated him praising himself as a 'well-disciplined soldier', would never let his men wait.

And she knew that August never liked her, and the other men feared her. If she walked up to them and tell them that Jarvan had gone missing, they would instantly think it was her fault.

She turned away and walked to the teak tree behind the brothel. Perhaps the prince had met some trouble on the way and left a message?

The half-dragon looked into the tree. Nothing.

She grumbled impatiently, but at the same time she was getting anxious. Perhaps something had happened to him, and he had no way to contact them? Her mind conjured a hundred other possible scenarios that could happen to the prince, most of them bad. And the more she thought about it, the fear within her grew.

_Something isn't right_, she told herself again. It was a small town, and it wouldn't take a long time looking for the prince, not without some help. Shyvana clenched her fists tightly, feeling the heat rage within her. Her eyes glowed a brilliant gold, and she channelled her dragon's fury into her bloodstream, allowing a bit of her draconic senses to surface.

Instantly, she was washed over by a myriad of stimuli – colours, sounds and smells that intensified tenfold, and she could feel a deep rumbling beast rustle within her, threatening to break free. Shyvana controlled herself as best as she could – if she let her fear run wild, she could go on a rampage and turn into a dragon in the middle of the town.

Her nose searched for the familiar scent of the prince. She walked quickly, growling whenever she accidentally bumped into someone else. After the intimacy from last night, it was no surprise when she easily picked up his scent, even though shrouded by the sour smell of sweat and excrement in the back alley.

Her ears twitched when she heard the familiar sound of someone being beaten up, and the whimper of a child, nearly drowning out the quiet and excruciating grunts of a victim. The noise grew as she drew nearer, and her hands almost burst into flames.

"Where is it?" the painful sound of a punch reverberated in the alley. "Still not talking?"

"Leave him…" she could hear him clearly, and her heart sank when he wheezed in pain. "Leave the boy…"

A loud smack, then the malevolent ring of steel.

Shyvana's eyes burnt with fury and she walked into the alley.

"You leave me no choice," an old man mumbled. He was flanked by two men, one stout and short, the other tall and muscular. On the ground a young boy curled and shivered, his body battered and covered in bruises.

Before the old man was the prince, his face bruised and wounded and his head lolling about as he laid on his side. His hand clutched over a wound that was bleeding, and his eyes seemed dazed, unable to grasp what was happening in the surroundings.

"Both of you," the old men gestured. "End him -"

Shyvana ran towards the old man, and slammed a fist across the back of his head with her gauntlet. The momentum of the punch threw him to the side, a sickening crunch audible as he dropped to the floor unconscious. By the time the sellswords tried to respond to her sudden assault, Shyvana already advanced, ready to tackle both men at once.

"You crazy bitch –"

Shyvana caught the short man's cutlass, pouring all her heat into her hand as it melted the steel quickly. The short man's face flickered from anger to shock to horror, as he finally gazed at the face beneath the hood.

He saw the angry glare of a half-dragon, her eyes already narrowed into reptilian slits. The scales near her eyes shifted and shivered with rage, and when she hissed, the man almost pissed himself.

Shyvana grabbed the short man's face with one palm, summoning her flames. The man screamed as fire seared his flesh, smoke started hissing and rising from the melting flesh on his face. He was still screaming when Shyvana shoved him to the ground, clutching his own ruined face as he rolled on the ground in pain.

The large man looked at her in trepidation, his sword hand trembling slightly. There was uncertainty on his face, unsure whether to fight or run. Shyvana's hood was already thrown backwards, revealing her golden eyes and blue-grey skin. Fire licked her fingers, and she raised both gauntlets, letting liquid flames flow through the openings of her gauntlets.

"Monster…" he spat. "A freak, what do you want?"

His insult did not shake her. After all, she knew clearly what she was, and knew very well what other races thought of her. Everyone despised her, feared her, and saw her as nothing but a dangerous beast.

Everyone except Jarvan.

She walked towards the large man, and he backed away until his back touched the wall.

"Gold? I have plenty, just… Just let me go, please!"

Shyvana bared her fangs, and threw a hand forward. She swiped her burning gauntlet at the man, raking his eyes. The man started screaming in pain just as his eyes started to bleed, and embers caught onto his skin like burning paper.

She released him, leaving the men blinded and the old man lying on the floor, his head bleeding from a fractured skull. She was shocked by the pool of blood laying in a puddle underneath the old man's body, and Shyvana had no doubt that she had killed a man.

She could have looked horrified, for she had never taken a life that did no harm to her. But she was too angry to care.

Not giving a second thought, she went over to Jarvan, examining his wounds. The prince groaned as he looked up at her, his mind still in a haze but now clearer than before. She knelt with her back against the injured men, ashamed to let the prince see the blood she had shed, just because she couldn't control her rage.

"Can you stand?" her voice was laced with concern, and she was surprised by herself.

"Just… just a minute," Jarvan shut his eyes and exhaled sharply. "My head… hurts,"

She drew his arm over her shoulder, supporting his weight. He was heavy, but her draconic side lent her strength, and she was able to lift the prince at ease. Jarvan hobbled along with her, and she stopped when she saw the boy still curled on the floor, looking up at her with awe and fear.

"You will tell no one of this," she said, not bothering to hide her face with the hood.

The boy trembled as he got onto his knees. "Th-thank you, my lady!"

Shyvana snorted. "I'm not a lady,"

Together with the prince, she walked away from the chaotic scene.

* * *

When she reached the stables, August's face was twisted with fury when he saw the prince hobbling with Shyvana's aid, who had already put her hood up. He instantly glared at her, obviously putting all the blame on her.

"No time to explain," Jarvan groaned. "We have to reach the harbour… Before he leaves without us,"

August threw a distasteful glance at Shyvana before helping to carry the prince.

When they made their way to the harbour, the bell tolled.

It wasn't easy looking for the _Seafarer _amidst a heavy crowd while carrying an injured man. When she saw a sailor on the prow of the ship withdrawing the plank from the harbour, Shyvana nearly shoved Jarvan away and rushed forward. She searched the deck for the captain, and the sailor soon noticed them approaching the _Seafarer. _The sailor turned behind and shouted something.

Before she knew it, the plank was extended to the harbour once again, and walking atop it was the captain. Jarvan hissed when Shyvana walked too quickly, but they had no time to waste.

"The jewel…" Jarvan whispered.

"You left it in the inn, in my pack," Shyvana reached into her satchel and retrieved the blue jewel, shining brilliantly. "The men were after you for it?"

"Aye… And they couldn't find it," Jarvan managed a triumphant chuckle, instead it sounded like a painful cough.

"I said come before the last light," the captain donned a tricorn hat, together with his cutlass and a captain's coat, striped in black and red. His voice was full of contempt, but Shyvana detected relief in his voice as well. "Five of you, is that all?"

"Yes," Jarvan gasped, clutching his injured abdomen painfully.

Markus threw a suspicious glance at him, but asked no other questions. "And our deal?"

"Right here," Shyvana said, and revealed the jewel in her palm. She expected to see a look of awe and greed upon the captain's face. What surprised her was Markus' attention wasn't on the jewel, but on her, and the look on his face was full of horror and disgust.

Instinctively, Shyvana panicked and drew her hood forward, afraid that Markus had seen her face.

"A _woman_?" Markus spat furiously. He glared at Jarvan. "You're tryin' to bring a woman on my ship?"

Jarvan and his men looked at Markus questioningly, the captain still glaring furiously at the prince. Shyvana felt confused.

"What's wrong with that?" Jarvan asked. "She was with me since yesterday,"

"I ain't don't know who you people are, not until she spoke," he spat into the sea. "Women are taboo upon a ship, brings ill luck. They ain't fit for travellin',"

"We had a deal," Jarvan gritted his teeth angrily.

"A deal no more. I ain't lettin' a girl unto my ship. The Bearded Lady sees women like her like a lion sees a deer. I'm savin' you, lass. The Bearded Lady gets what She wants. And strikes us with storms and typhoons till we give you to Her,"

Shyvana had no idea who the heck the Bearded Lady was. And she was too mad to give a damn.

"The deal's _off_," Markus stressed on the last word. "I ain't risking my crew for your jewel, you can beg and cry for all I care," he turned and began walking up the plank.

Shyvana's eyes burnt, and she pushed Jarvan away, stomping her way towards the captain. Jarvan grunted as August and Lance caught him before he fell to the ground, his wound throbbing painfully. The prince wanted to call her back, saying that there could be another way, but she already had the captain in her grasp, holding him in the air as he struggled feebly.

The half-dragon pulled Markus towards her face, glaring at him with her fiery amber eyes. The captain yelped, his eyes wide with terror when he gazed into hers.

"_You can tell your Bearded Bitch to go fuck herself,_" Shyvana growled, a bestial rumble replacing her usual voice. Markus tried not to cower in fear, but he looked as though he was going to piss his pants. "_I don't care about your superstitions or whatever not. Will you take us to the north, or not?_"

Markus held a defiant glare, but his voice shook. "Ain't lettin' you board my ship, even if you kill me!"

"_I won't kill you,_" she growled. "_I will burn your ship, with all your crew in there. Then you can join them. Don't you Bilgewatians value your ships more than your own lives?_"

That struck a nerve.

"Fuck," Markus muttered under his breath. "Fine then! L-let me down!"

Shyvana released him, and he toppled to the floor ungracefully. Markus dusted his collar, already singed and blackened by Shyvana's flames. He looked up at the half-dragon with fear and hatred, her fury already dissipated.

"If halfway we met a storm, or other disasters," Markus grumbled dangerously. "I'm throwin' you, the five of you, off the board. I'll give you a fuckin' boat if you want. You can row or swim to the shore for all I care. Let the Bearded Lady decide your fate,"

Jarvan felt himself releasing a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. Shyvana stood there, her back stiffened as her rage slowly ebbed away. Jarvan released himself from August and Lance's hold, ignoring their protests.

"Thank you," Jarvan placed a hand on Shyvana's shoulder. She flinched and almost shook it away, before realizing that it was just the prince.

When she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes had dimmed. And how exhausted she seemed. As though she was burdened by something else.

"What for?" she shrugged. "Who knows if he's going to betray us?"

"At least we got ourselves a passage to the north. And thank you for saving me… back in the alley. I was drugged and helpless," his hand unconsciously touched his wounded abdomen, hissing slightly when it pulsed in pain.

A look of horror crossed her face for half a second, before returning to her usual stoned expression. She said nothing and turned as Markus roared at the sailors, telling them to weigh anchor.

The half-dragon walked up the plank to the _Seafarer, _followed by Jarvan and his men.


	15. Chapter 15: Where Ends Meet

**Chapter 15: Where Ends Meet**

Two hours after the crew of the _Seafarer _had weighed anchor, they were already far into the heart of the Guardian's Sea. Shyvana looked out of the small airhole in the _l__arder_ (as Markus had called it when he led them to the chamber) and saw nothing but blue. Blue of the sea and the sky, where different shades of azure, turquoise and cyan merged.

_Larder,_ Shyvana snorted. Markus had arranged their lodgings in a rather damp and dark chamber, spacious yet packed with sealed crates. There were no telltale signs of meat or salt, nor any men of the crew entering the chamber to check on the stock. The sealed crates were nailed shut, that only a crowbar could pry them open.

Nonetheless, the remaining space of the chamber was large enough to accommodate five of them, and Jarvan sat with his back propped against a wall in the corner of the chamber. He was in deep sleep, having exhausted and wounded by the encounter in the alley. The men did not ask him or her what happened to him, and Jarvan did not tell them either.

August and Lance sat close to the prince. While Alfie stayed close to the entrance of the larder, his bow and remaining arrows hidden in the shadows of the dark room. Shyvana sat far away from them all, isolating herself. But once in a while, she caught herself looking at the prince, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the dark red stain of his wounded belly that she had no idea if it were properly tended to.

The sea. She was not use to being so far away from land, standing upon a ground that swayed and turned ever so slightly to the rhythm of the sea. It was as though the waves itself were the breaths of the ocean, and the whistles and wails of the winds through the airholes were the sea's voice – lamenting, demanding and imploring the sea dwellers. The moment the ship set sail, she felt nauseous, and it took her a while to get used to it.

"My lady?" she turned her head abruptly, her thoughts interrupted by the voice of a young boy. Alfie's eyes shone in the dark, and his mop of blond hair grew shaggier than before. "Are you hungry?"

Truth be told, she had not eaten at all that day.

Alfie took out a small bundle, unfolding it to reveal strips of salted meat and bread. He offered some to Shyvana, and she couldn't help but reach out for a strip of meat and broke away a quarter of the bread.

She looked at Alfie oddly, whose head hung low as he dared not look her in the eye. Timidly, he broke off part of the bread and pinched a bit of meat, taking small bites. His long blond hair hung low enough to cover his eyes, making him look haggard and dishevelled like a lost child.

She couldn't help but ask. "Are you so afraid of me?"

It was no louder than a whisper, but Alfie heard it nonetheless, and he looked up in shock. It was there, the fear in his eyes. And Shyvana stared at him, her lips neither smiling nor frowning.

"I-It would be wrong n-n-not to, my lady," he stammered.

Her eye twitched in annoyance. "Shyvana," she corrected. "Your other friend hates me so much I'm sure he would kill me in my sleep, the other one tries to avoid me as well. You intrigue me, boy, what is it that you're so afraid of?"

Alfie swallowed hard, and Shyvana felt amused. "Y-you are strong. Fierce," she noticed his hands were beginning to shake. "The p-prince. He admires you. I'm nothing but a simple soldier. Unlike you,"

She said nothing and ate the last bite of her food. The boy held his breath and dared not look away, as though he was afraid that she might smite him there and then.

"The prince," she began. "What is it like, serving him?"

Alfie seemed surprised by her question, and thought carefully before answering. "Like what I've always dreamed of," his timidity was replaced by reverence and admiration upon speaking of the prince. "He's both a leader and a friend, he cares about us, and fights like one of those legendary Valor Knights. Prince Jarvan is well-loved by many, and all Demacian soldiers are willing to die for him,"

"And the conflict two years ago?" she asked.

Where she expected anger and repulsion from a loyal soldier like him, Alfie only gave her a sad and remorseful look. "Prince Jarvan didn't take it well. But it wasn't his fault. The ambush… Swain was called the Master Tactician for a reason,"

_Not his fault?_ Shyvana thought. His pride had blinded him and led him straight into a trap, and his men paid the price for it. But she kept quiet and said nothing about it. At that moment she realized that Jarvan was a lucky man, surrounded by such loyal soldiers that were ready to die at his command.

She decided to change the subject again, this time to the young lad himself. "Your skills with the bow is… remarkable,"

He dipped his head shyly. "You flatter me, my la-" he recoiled at her glare, and quickly corrected. "Shyvana. My father was a marksman in the military, and before he died he gifted me his bow. That was during my second year of service in the military,"

"How old were you then?"

"Thirteen," Alfie whispered softly, and the surprised look on Shyvana's face did not go unnoticed. "I had some complications… And I have to join the military. The government offers extra allowance to those who are willing to join the Demacian service at a young age,"

She remembered the night near the river, when they had all nearly walked to their deaths. She remembered everything the men had said, the things they saw in their dreams.

"Is it because of your sister?" her curiosity got the better of her, and she blurted it out before thinking twice.

Alfie's face turned melancholic. He did not even bother feeling astonished about how the half-dragon knows about his family plight, and Shyvana felt a pang of guilt. She almost wished she could take back her words.

Shyvana looked away. "You don't have to tell me about –"

"She… she was struck by an illness. A rather rare one," he sighed. "The local healers in my town said there were no cure for her. My mother wept, and I refuse to believe it. We are poor, and it was difficult looking for other apothecaries out there. So I joined the military. My sweet little sister… It's hard watching her so sickly and pale. She has been bedridden for more than a year,"

The half-dragon said nothing. She felt pity for the young lad, forced to shoulder such a heavy burden at such a young age. She did not say a thing, looking at him with a mask of hard expression, letting him continue.

"It has been three years. I sent money back home, to my mother. I told her about the healers from Piltover, or Ionia. Then two years ago Prince Jarvan picked me to go with him on his journey. It's an honour I could not refuse,"

"What about your sister then?"

"My sister… I've left my mother plenty of money to take my sister to other nations, where the climates might suit her. That was my last letter to my mother and my sister," Alfie then brightened up with a wide smile. "Who knows? She could be healed already, waiting for my return. It has been two years after all,"

The boy remained optimistic despite being around such crude men for so long. And usually the deaths of his comrades could have shaken him. But Alfie impressed her with his inner strength, a display of strong mentality.

They remained silent for a long while, the larder quiet except for the soothing sounds of the waves and Jarvan's snores. Then came three knocks upon the door where Alfie sat near, the sound so soft it was almost unnoticeable.

Alfie's hand gripped his bow tightly, while Shyvana quickly put up her hood. Lance and August remained passive, missing the knocks. The young lad looked at Shyvana questioningly, wondering what he should do.

She knew that Markus would not be so polite to knock before entering the chamber. He would just barge in as though he was the king, regardless of who was inside. The half-dragon signalled him to wait.

Silence met them. After a long while, an irritated groan.

"See, I told you there's no one here," a boy said, his voice echoing through the wooden door. His voice suggested that he was at the cusp of puberty, and a slight hint of Bilgewatian accent gave him away. But this boy spoke with some sort of intelligence, like a scholar.

"Father took 'em here!" a squeaky voice said. "I saw 'em from afar! Walkin' up the plank, hoods o'er their heads! And had 'em hidden here! Father's hidin' somethin'!"

"Reena," the boy chided. "Father probably brought in new sailors. Or you're seeing stuff. Or both. Are you done yet? I have stock records to keep up to, before father yells at us peeping into his precious ship,"

Shyvana walked forward and opened the door, not before pulling her hood lower.

Alfie looked at her in surprise, but Shyvana ignored him. She would not be kept down here like a prisoner, after all they _paid _that oaf for their passage.

Before her was a young boy no older than fourteen, with handsome brown eyes and a mop of black hair, and a small girl with large innocent eyes, her tiny hand holding onto the boy's hand. They both looked up at her in shock, before being taken over by fright. Luckily, the chamber within the ship was dark enough to keep her face from plain sight, but just the sight of her underneath a hood was enough to scare children to run for their covers.

What impressed her was the calmness and bravery the boy tried to feign, even though she could see his trembling hands. He quickly pulled the little girl behind him, shielding her from the stranger before him.

"Wh-who are you?" the boy spoke, with the maturity of a man of twenty years, yet could not hide the tremor in his voice.

"Passengers," Shyvana shrugged, not bothering to explain any further to the children. She had no doubt that these two were Markus' children, and they didn't need to know what their father had brought upon the ship.

"What purpose do you have here?" the boy asked. This time he was bolder, and Shyvana's eyebrows knitted in a frown.

The young girl peeped from the boy's waist, staring at her intently. Where there was fear in her large eyes was now replaced by curiosity and fascination, as though she seemed less dangerous when she could talk just like them.

"I am Reena," she squeaked, surprising the boy. "And this is my brother, Rodrik,"

"Reena!" the boy reprimanded. "Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?!"

The girl huffed in irritation. "You just talked to her!"

Before the two siblings could quarrel anymore, Shyvana sighed. "Why are you both here? Had your father never told you of monsters dwelling in the belly of a ship?"

Reena squealed, while Rodrik stared at her nonchalantly. Their fear seemed to have dissipated, no longer afraid of her. "Reena wouldn't stop bugging me to bring her down here. She claims that she saw a group of hooded people. And I supposed she's right,"

"Yes, she is," Shyvana snapped, her patience wearing thin. "And what are you going to do about it? We paid your _heartless_ father a rather large sum, and all he offered was a packed room with neither rations nor chamber pots,"

She could hear Alfie wincing behind the door, and she paid it no heed.

"Father was never keen with outsiders," Rodrik said, ignoring her spiteful remark of his father. "He even makes sure his children work on his ship. I keep the sums and accounts of his load and goods, while little Reena here helps the cook. Ain't that right, Reena?" he ruffled his sister's hair with adoration.

Reena only giggled.

Shyvana said nothing. Her lips were pulled taut, and she thought carefully. Perhaps these children could give her answers to ease her doubts.

"Your father owes us," Shyvana said.

Fear flickered in his brown eyes. "Yes," he answered timidly.

"I won't ask for much. I don't need gold or anything else. But I want answers,"

Rodrik nodded carefully.

"How long does it take Markus to notice his two children missing?"

"He's a busy man," Rodrik swallowed hard. "He hardly notices us, unless it's dinner – "

"Good," Shyvana stood back and opened the door wide, gesturing to the two children. "Come inside, we need to talk,"

* * *

"Forgive me," the now awakened prince said to the children, his voice gentle and caring. "My friend must have scared you senseless," he chuckled while Shyvana scoffed, as he drew his fingers through his black hair.

August now stayed near the door, while Lance and Alfie took their rest. Jarvan, Shyvana and the two children huddled in the corner of the chamber, a meagre flame flickering from an almost burnt out candle.

"It doesn't matter," Rodrik answered. "M'lady mentioned she had some questions,"

Shyvana's eye twitched as he addressed her as a 'lady', but she made no comment of it. "Do you know where we're heading?" she asked. Markus could have promised them that they were heading to Northern Noxus, but as a freight ship he might dock somewhere, and lie to them that they had reached their destination just to ditch them.

"To Barouk's Bay," Rodrik answered calmly. "At Northern Noxus. Noxus doesn't have many harbours, only one main port each in the north and the south,"

"Does everyone on the ship know about us?" she asked again. It was important that Markus had kept the news of new passengers aboard his ship as discreet as possible. Sailors were known for their loose tongue, and it would not do good to the prince if Noxus knew about a ragtag band of mysterious hooded figure that appeared out of nowhere.

Rodrik's eyes were downcast as he thought deeply. "Father is a quiet man. He's never a talker. The only words he ever spoke of was money or yelling at the crew. We hadn't heard of any rumours around the ship about a bunch of hooded people, I suppose father kept it quiet,"

"But one of you saw us," Shyvana stated. She remembered the man at the hull of the _Seafarer_ before they boarded, the thin man shouting at the Captain about their arrival.

"That was Reena," Rodrik answered.

"Not the girl," she said flatly. "A thin man,"

"Gunther?" Rodrik asked. "If you had noticed, he does not have a tongue,"

"What?" Jarvan and Shyvana exclaimed.

"He does not have a tongue," Rodrik repeated. "Everything he speaks is gibberish. You need not worry about him,"

He left them to ponder for a moment, and when they remained silent, Rodrik asked again, in that calm voice of his. "Any more questions, m'lord, m'lady?"

"Does your father ever treat his crew cruelly?" Jarvan asked. Shyvana looked at him quizzically, wondering what had the question got to do with their quest, but asked no questions.

"No," Rodrik answered too quickly, and the half-dragon quirked an eyebrow. "He's just… wary. Our mother left when we were old enough to walk. Took all his fortune, not a piece of silver left," Rodrik's hand stroked Reena's hair absent-mindedly, while she fiddled with the lace of her dress. "He's bitter ever since. Trusts no one. Not even us. You see why he guards his earnings from us. And when I was old enough, he told me I have to live for myself. He knows I read a lot. He makes me study sums, just so I could manage his accounts and stocks. No one else but me,"

"Rodrik reads all those stories," Reena added. "He knows 'em word by word. Others on the ship can't even write their own name. Rodrik knows everything, even the stories from Ioda –"

"Ionia," Rodrik corrected.

"- the Darkins, even the Bearded Lady. He tells me that story all the time!"

Both the prince and the half-dragon looked up at the siblings. "The Bearded Lady?"

Rodrik's lips curled into a clever smirk. "What about it?"

"Your father mentioned a taboo, related to this… Bearded Lady,"

"She's a patron deity of Bilgewater," Rodrik explained. "Every captains of every great ships worship her. 'Make a tithe to her, or die in Mother Serpent's jaws'. That's the common saying, and the taboo?"

"He said women bring ill luck to the ship, and the Bearded Lady will bring disaster upon the ship,"

"Every captain of Bilgewater is a superstitious man. My father isn't so brave. Do you think he'd forego such a taboo? I'm surprised you even managed to board his ship. Never mind him. He is just afraid. After all, the Harrowing is nigh, everyone has a reason to be afraid,"

Both the prince and the half-dragon stared at the boy with a puzzled expression. Rodrik frowned. "Haven't you heard of the Harrowing?"

Shyvana had not heard of such events, yet for Jarvan, the name rang a bell. "Isn't Harrowing a fun festivity to be celebrated, to ward off all evil spirits in the world?"

Surprisingly, Rodrik laughed, sounding older than he looked. "That was what they do in the mainland, m'lord. The Noxians consider the festival too immature for their tastes, while the Demacians treat everything too positively, those proud men," Shyvana noticed Jarvan's eye twitching. "Only the ones on Blue Flame Island know the true nature of the Harrowing, and because of that, we fear it. No ships will sail at the heart of the Guardian's Sea when the Harrowing comes, no Bilgewatians will go into the sea for adventure. And when you see the Black Mist, you sail away as far away as possible,"

"The Black Mist?" Jarvan cocked an eyebrow.

"It's when the dead comes," Rodrik's voice lowered to an eerie whisper. "When a mist of black with flashes of lightning come hurtling across the sea, the dead comes with it. Those who sailed past the Mist, never to return. Those who claimed they saw it from afar, said they heard moans and cries of the unrest. Some even said they saw a spectral horseman, armored and armed with a glaive, leading a horde of death across the sea,"

Shyvana snorted. "Children's stories. Madmen see what they see,"

Rodrik turned to her. "Last year, twelve ships departed from Blue Flame Island, heading to the mainland through the Guardian's Sea, only to never reach their destinations. Many sailors said they saw the Mist, coming with raging tides and storms," his eyes glowed a fiery orange from the candle's flame. "The Mist takes all, and leaves none. And the dead joins its ranks. When the next Harrowing comes, the Mist becomes bigger, claiming even more lives. Until it reaches the end of the sea,"

"If it's so terrible, why haven't the Bilgewatians asked for other nation's help?"

"Do you think the Demacians or the Noxians will believe a sailor's tale? It's what they all say, 'a sailor's mouth is bigger than his cock'. The Bilgewatians think offering a better tithe than usual to the Mother Serpent could grant them a safe voyage, but that was not proven,"

"And your father has seen the Mist?" Shyvana quipped, feeling wary of the boy's tale. After all she had seen at the desert, and the demon at the river, it wouldn't be a surprise if such atrocity existed.

The boy sighed in relief. "Fortunately, no. But it's best to take precautions. Even you and your company, m'lord,"

Jarvan laughed nervously. "Precautions?"

"It's one thing if we run into a heavy storm," Rodrik smiled sadly. "It's another if we run into the Black Mist. I don't know if the tales are true, but if my father sees a wisp of a black mist, he won't hesitate to throw you off the sea to the Bearded Lady,"

At this point, Reena had already fallen asleep in her brother's arms. Outside, the world started to dim, and the setting sun painted the seas orange and red. Shyvana could tell by the dimming rays of light through the tiny airholes.

"There's a boat though," Rodrik's fingers stroked his sister's hair. "To the rightmost out in the corridor. In the quarterdeck. Use it to escape, m'lord. And row as far as you can,"

"Then the _Seafarer_ –"

"Father will sail away. He's always been a little jumpy. It could be just a smoke, or his mind playin' tricks on him. Either way, he's superstitious. But he never hesitates with his decisions. The Black Mist could be untrue, but my father thinks otherwise,"

Shyvana shifted uncomfortably, absently pulling down her hood. "You don't sound like a firm believer of this _Harrowing _tale,"

Rodrik shook his head, his black hair swaying slightly. "No. Not unless I've actually seen it,"

* * *

"Whatever the fuck this is, it doesn't seem appealing," Jarvan complained, lifting his tunic gingerly, revealing the torn wound near his upper left hip. The bleeding had stopped, but the dried blood crusted at the side, and the tear needed to be sealed.

"Relax," Shyvana held the tiny spoon with two fingers, scooping a small glob of greenish substance. "That boy took a lot of effort getting it here. Don't let it go to waste," she brought the spoon close to Jarvan's wound, applying the ointment upon the tear. The wound hissed, and the prince pursed his lips.

Jarvan couldn't help but notice the irony of it; how he had helped her when he first met her. And now she was tending to his wound, stitching and keeping it from getting infected, just like what he had once done for her.

"Funny how a few weeks ago I did this for you," Jarvan remarked. "And now you're returning the favour,"

"Just paying my debts,"

"You saved my hide more than once. Now I'm the one owing you,"

She used her flames to burn away the crusts of blood near the prince's wound, and his skin tinged pink from the heat. The half-dragon did not look away from his side, her armoured hands glowing golden and red under the dim moonlight. A few sparks flew, searing his skin and sealing the gash. Then the spark went out, and she looked into his eyes.

"And how are you going to repay me?" a playful smirk danced across her lips, and it made the prince snort with laughter.

"Now who's the pompous one?"

She punched his shoulder playfully, and the prince guffawed loudly. The other men were sound asleep and did not hear them, as they sat near the other end of the chamber. Shyvana continued applying layers of ointment upon his freshly sealed wound, a deep chuckle rumbling from her chest.

"But really, Shyvana," his eyes and tone turned solemn, yet a ghost of a smile remained. "Thank you. I could have died back there,"

The half-dragon put away the bottle of medicine Rodrik had snuck for them. She looked into the prince's eyes, always so sincere and genuine, and warm. She had no idea how to respond to his heartfelt gratitude. "Well, I'm not doing it for free," she mumbled flatly.

"Which is why the offer stands," he said. "Come back to Demacia with me, with us. You can be part of the Elite Guard. Your service will be a boon to the military,"

The smile died on her lips, and her brows were knitted in a frown. She wanted to accept that offer, she understood the lure of a home and having a purpose, after losing one. But she then she looked at herself. Will the people truly accept her as their own? Will the Demacians, well-known for their pride, see her as an equal?

_No,_ a voice spoke harshly back in her mind, killing her hope. _Of course not. _

She remained quiet for a long while, and Jarvan could see that she was in a dilemma. "I don't expect your answer right now," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "Maybe after we slew the drake. Take your time,"

His hand on hers sent a jolt down her spine. She quickly retracted to it, not before noticing a look of dismay on the prince's face. Shyvana cleared her throat awkwardly. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" she looked anywhere but him, clenching and unclenching her fist.

"Oh well," Jarvan thought. "Actually my back feels kind of sore, like I just got dragged through broken glass,"

"They probably did," she rolled her eyes, failing to notice an amused glance from Jarvan. She gestured at the prince irritatingly to turn away and lift his tunic, which he did without hesitation.

She wasn't prepared with what she was going to see.

Criss-crossing his back were long thin scars, still gleaming bright red, as though someone just dragged his nails across his back, drawing blood.

She reared back in surprise and disgust. "They tried to feed you to a lion?" she said incredulously. Jarvan tried to hide his mirth, but it failed.

"Oh, you don't remember,"

"Remember what?" she snapped.

"I found this wounds when I woke up in the morning," he paused, letting his words sink in. Then he added. "The previous morning,"

She scrunched her eyebrows in a scowl. "I don't get it. I don't," the prince looked over his shoulder and grinned shamelessly at her. And her eyes widened in surprise when she understood his meaning.

"No _fucking _way," she shook her head in disbelief. "Don't be an idiot, I couldn't have done that!"

"You're the only one with claws here!" Jarvan threw his head back, guffawing. Shyvana only shot him a furious glare, obviously annoyed with him. "I really enjoyed that night, I do, but it hurt like _fucking _hell as well,"

"Lucky for you, I can't remember a shit," she got up and left the prince rolling on the floor laughing. "Well I hope you get an infection and die," the fuming half-dragon stomped across the chamber, feeling more frustrated when Jarvan wouldn't stop laughing.

"Come on, you obviously loved it,"

"Go fuck yourself,"

"Shyvana," Jarvan was still laughing, though he sobered a little. "It's alright, I don't remember much either –"

Her ears twitched and she stopped in the middle of the chamber. "Quiet, Jarvan," she held a hand towards the prince, who was cocking an eyebrow at her.

"You're still angry, aren't you –"

"_Quiet!_" Shyvana hissed, and Jarvan recoiled a little. Her eyes were glowing molten gold, and she looked towards the roof of the chamber, her ears picking up small noises. The silence of the chamber was thick in the air, save for one small noise that no regular human can hear.

And the half-dragon could hear it just right.

The wailing of an infant; long and shrill and cold. It sent chills down her spine, and she could feel the hair of her nape stand.

Jarvan had stayed still and watched the half-dragon intently, knowing something was wrong. Shyvana's eyes met him for a second, and he quickly went to retrieve his lance.

"Something's not right," she whispered. "There's a child on the ship,"

"Reena?" Jarvan asked.

"No, more like an infant,"

"That can't be,"

A moan tore through the quiet air, like the sound of a dying man. Shyvana gasped and raised her gauntlets, prompting Jarvan to raise his weapon as well. She could not tell if it was the fear in her heart, or that the room had suddenly become much colder.

"Did you hear that?" she asked the prince.

He frowned. "Hear what?" but before he could wait for an answer, Shyvana went to the end of the chamber and peeped out of an airhole. Jarvan watched her, and noticed how her shoulders slumped.

"Oh, fuck me,"

"Not here, perhaps somewhere more discreet," he whispered back at her.

"Jarvan," her hands were shaking violently. "Wake the others, we have to leave,"

"What is it?" he walked up beside her and looked into another airhole, his eyes squinting as he adjusted to the darkness outside. The world was black as ink outside the ship, the sea and the sky barely distinguishable. "What's wrong?"

"The moon. It was here earlier. Now it was gone,"

"Maybe it's just the clouds covering it, you're freaking out," Jarvan reassured.

"It's fucking dark outside! I can't even see a thing!" Shyvana retorted.

"That boy's story scared you, that's what happened. It probably isn't true. Ghosts don't exist,"

She nudged Lance awake with her foot, before throwing a nervous glance at the door. "After those things we face in the desert, I doubt that myths are just stories told to children,"

Right after she said it, a quick bright flash brightened up the entire room for a second, before a loud _boom_ rumbled the ship. And that was when she heard it – men shouting up the deck, hammocks rustling and heavy crates being moved, and the slight sway of the ship.

"So what if the Black Mist isn't true? Markus will still feed us to the sharks," Shyvana grunted. "He doesn't care. He'll grow paranoid and throw us off his ship,"

That hit a mark, and instantly Jarvan went and roused his company.

Quickly, the five of them barged out of the larder, heading to the rightmost of the corridor just as Rodrik had told them. The commotion grew louder upstairs, and occasionally they could hear a distant clap of thunder – signalling the coming of a storm. On their way to the quarterdeck, all of them kept quiet, knowing how a mistake they make could possible put a final nail to their coffins.

"There it is," Jarvan walked two paces at a time. "The quarterdeck –"

Shyvana pulled him back instantly, shoving him against the wall before a corner and halting Lance, August and Alfie. She placed a finger on her lips, before taking a quick peep around the corner.

Straining her ears, she heard the quiet whimpers of a child close by. Noticing a lump of silhouette in the dark, she slowly walked out of the corner where they were hiding, creeping towards the crying child.

"Reena?" Shyvana called out softly, not wanting to scare the poor girl.

"M'lady?" she gasped. Her voice sounded broken and scared.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, gesturing at the men that it was safe to come out. Jarvan crept forward until he was beside her. "Where is your brother?"

"Bad things. Th-th-they are comin'," she hiccupped. "Rodrik joined Father. They want us dead. They'll hurt us," the young girl stammered, before bursting into tears again. Shyvana wanted to ask who were 'they', but the girl was in no shape to answer her questions.

Jarvan gripped Shyvana's elbow. "We have to help them,"

Shyvana gritted her teeth. "We can't, whatever's coming, we won't survive it,"

"We can't just leave them here to die!"

"There's only one boat in the quarterdeck, you being kind will get all of us killed!"

A loud blast drowned Jarvan's voice, and before they knew it, a huge explosion threw them to their back. Lance, Alfie and August stood far away from the blast that they just got thrown off balance. Shyvana crashed right into Jarvan, both of them slammed against the wall and it knocked the air out of their lungs.

Shyvana groaned and opened her eyes. Where the wooden floorboards and narrow corridor was before them earlier, was now gone. Flames licked at splinters and chips of wood that had been blasted off, and burning wood fell into the sea below, briefly lighting up the pitch-black night. They could see the sea from here, through a large hole blown right off the _Seafarer._

And the young girl, Reena was missing as well.

"Oh fuck," Jarvan shivered. "She… she was just right here, seconds ago,"

"Prince, we have to head the other way," August looked around frantically. They started hearing screams and cries from above, knowing that it was more than just a storm.

"August," Lance stared out of the sea, his face pale as death. "Prince Jarvan. Look out there,"

Somewhere out there, a loud horn blared. And that was when they noticed a massive shadow thrown over the _Seafarer_. The fires brightened up their vision, and they saw an enormous body moving, passing by them. Painted in bright gold letters on the large wooden body were three words – '_The Dead Pool'_

It was a ship. A ship thrice the size of the _Seafarer. _A ship with three masts that stood tall as concrete towers, with cannons lining the side of the behemoth. Another blast went off, similar to that of a formidable thunderclap. A black, tattered flag soared right above the middle mast, which was the largest of the three.

It wasn't just a ship. It was a galley.

They all stared as the galley sailed past, until they meet the mouth of a cannon.

It was aimed at them.

* * *

**It's been a while. And I'm sorry for the late update. **

**And just to notify you guys this will be my last update for a while. I've got an important exam in mid-November, and I did really badly for the previous one. I'll update somewhere around the end of November, after my exams have ended. So, sorry for the long wait!**

**Please don't forget to review if you like the story so far. Or tell me if you think something is off. As always, thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16: The God and The Undying

**It's been months. I know. But here it is. And longest chapter yet, as an apology for the long wait. Do enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Some characters and quotes belong to Riot Games. **

* * *

**Chapter 16: The God and the Undying**

It all happened too quickly.

Shyvana could barely register what happened. She only remembered being basked in a warm, golden light, before hearing an ear-splitting blast that made the _Seafarer_ tremble. Temporarily blinded by the light, she hissed before she was thrown off her feet, her ears still deaf and ringing from the explosion.

Moments later, she found herself lying face-first on the ground, and she could hear crackling fires and snapping wood around her. Her mind was still in a haze, her eyesight a terrible blur.

"Fuck," she groaned, forcing herself to stand. Another section of the ship had been blown off. Orange flames danced devilishly around her, eating away the walls and the floorboards of the ship. Knowing it could sink anytime, Shyvana hurried to her feet. They had to get to the deck quickly, or else they would sink with the ship.

"Everyone fine?" Jarvan winced. The prince leaned on his lance, his bruised and bloodied face concealed by his hood. The hem of his cloak was singed black, and he quickly stepped out the fire that caught on his cloak. The prince swayed on his feet, the remnants of the Golden Aegis spell still glowing and hissing near his feet. She could tell how depleted his magic power was, to deflect a cannon blast like that.

Shyvana had no doubt that she looked as dishevelled and exhausted as he was, but she carried on, helping Alfie to get himself together. The young lad nearly fell back to the floor when Shyvana raised him upright.

"They could be reloading," August wrapped a strip of cloth around his wounded arm, tightening it to stop the bleeding. "We have to be quick, the ship is tilting already,"

Jarvan took the lead without a word, putting some distance between him and his men. Shyvana could see that the prince was clearly disturbed, as she noticed how his jaw was locked and his fists clenched tightly. She matched his pace, walking side by side with him.

"You know that we won't make it, this ship will sink either way," he whispered harshly to the half-dragon.

"There's always a way," she assured him, though she was as unsure as he was. "We just need to be clever,"

"We're in the middle of the sea, with not a single boat to spare, and a giant warship blasting us to bits!" he hissed angrily. She could not tell if it was her imagination, or the ship just tilted more than earlier. It rumbled with distant booming, telling them the onslaught still hadn't ended.

"Get to the deck," she said firmly. "Get to the deck, we'll see what we can do. You have the wits for this, you'll know how to escape," she gripped her gauntlets tightly, summoning her flames. She only hoped that she was right.

* * *

The deck was pure chaos: a picture painted with bloodbath and gore, and the place reeked of fear and death. Here and there, they could hear shouts and screams of men begging for mercy before they were brutally murdered, followed by a gurgle or cry as they choked on their own blood. Corpses strewn about the deck, with flames eating away in the background serving as a hideous backdrop; feeding, forever feeding.

Among the agonized cries of the dying, were the sounds of men whooping with joy. These men held scimitars and cutlasses, dressed in boiled leather cuirass and badly forged iron armour. Those who were not slaughtering the helpless sailors of the _Seafarer _were busy looting corpses and raiding the ship, stripping them of their valuables and piling them in wooden chests and crates.

If their appearances had not seemed obvious enough, their actions would have given their identities away. Jarvan's lips curled in distaste. _Disgusting, lazy savages. _That was what he called these pirates. _Pillaging and plundering the labour of others. And slaughtering without mercy. _

He was ready to charge into the deck with his lance and throw these vile barbarians into the rolling waves. The prince had no doubt his men would follow without a moment's hesitation – after all, their loyalty to the crown was unquestionable.

But a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. Looking over his shoulder, he met Lance's eyes – solemn and grim. Lance, in his thirties with his salt and pepper stubble and closely shaved dark hair. His thumb tweaked at his sword hilt nervously, a slight shake of his head telling the prince that whatever he had in notion was a fool's idea.

Jarvan tensed in anger and desperation, his eyes narrowed in a frown at his subordinate. "You expect me to stay here and watch them being murdered? They can't even defend themselves!" he snarled, but Lance's gaze did not falter.

"My prince, hear me please," the soldier pleaded calmly. Shyvana noticed that his eyes flickered here and there constantly as if expecting an ambush at any time, but they were well hidden beneath a trap door of the quarterdeck that led them to the main deck, hence an onslaught was mostly unlikely. "These pirates bear the mark of the Jagged Hooks, and they are the most notorious gang in the Slaughter Docks. You don't want to mess with them, or get on the nerves of whoever that's hiring them,"

The prince remained unconvinced. "We've faced worse odds, we can retake the _Seafarer_,"

"No, we can't," Lance said sharply. "We are outnumbered and overpowered. Not even discipline can brave the worst odds, my prince. And that pirate ship is the biggest I've ever since. They have more cannons than I can count, and they will blast us to bits. Trust me, Bilgewatian pirates will do anything just to get that pretty lance off your hands, prince,"

He glared at Lance, his hands gripping his weapon with an irritated shiver. But then his eyes softened as his comrade looked him squarely in the eye, even though he obviously had much more power over him.

Lance was never a talker, because from where he came from, talking too much either gets you mugged, pickpocketed or brutally murdered in the alley. Jarvan knew where he hailed, but not how he came to swear allegiance to the king. After all, every person has his own secrets.

Jarvan sighed. "Sometimes I forget where you came from, Lance. You were Demacian for so long," he put away his lance. "Our best course of action, then?"

Lance's eyes twinkled gratefully. His thumb on his sword moved nervously. "We can either escape by swimming, which is unlikely. Or by their ship,"

They all stared at him quizzically, not quite understanding his meaning, until the prince's face lit up with realization. He threw Lance an incredulous glance. "You can't be serious. You mean we have to surrender?"

Lance said nothing.

August spat. "That's madness, Lance,"

Shyvana sneered. "I'd rather die then,"

"We don't have to surrender," Lance added in quickly. "Just disguise as them. It's dark out here, no moon to light the way. We can use it to our advantage and just avoid the bright places. Sneak into their ship. That warship must have boats standby in case of a shipwreck or whatever. Stealth is the key,"

They all fell silent and thought about his plan carefully, thinking about any potential threats. It did seem solid enough, and Jarvan nodded with approval. Even Shyvana seemed glad with the idea, albeit how fiercely her eyes shone, obviously itching for a fight.

"Everyone move out then," Jarvan ordered. "Lance, August and Alfie will take the east. Shyvana and I –"

"Go with Lance and fuckface, prince," Shyvana interrupted. He could tell that Shyvana was amused at how August was seething with white-hot anger upon hearing how she called him, yet her tones were sombre and grim. "I'll go with Alfie,"

Jarvan's brows furrowed. He had never known her to bond with anyone else as she rarely socialized with his men. The prince snuck a suspicious glance at his youngest comrade, wondering if something happened between them both without his knowledge.

Alfie, however, looked perplexed. As though he did not expect the half-dragon to offer to pair with him either.

August snorted, shooting a heated glare at Shyvana. "What are we waiting for then? Let's move out,"

* * *

_Stealth_, Shyvana whispered in her mind. She remembered her father's lesson on how to hunt a prey and follow its trail, how to walk with the shadow and be as silent as still wind, how to match the calmness of her beating heart to that of a gentle sea wave. The forests of the Great Barrier were quiet, still and tranquil, the soft winds like a chime to her ears. But this was different: a ravaged and raped trader's ship tainted with blood and slaughter, the winds neither still nor tranquil but raged and howled and screamed to the ever-growing flames. They were hauled into this bedlam of merciless plunder, and the only strategy to survive was by stealth.

Behind her, Alfie followed closely. Their backs were leaned close to the walls of the captain's cabin, where the middle mast stood nearby, her sails unfurled yet punctured with holes torn by cannonballs and bullets.

Slowly they crept along the path. It was much quieter this side until Shyvana's ears picked up on the wicked cackle of four pirates, no doubt. She was confident that Alfie and her could dispatch them quickly and quietly without them alerting the others – Alfie could put two down swiftly with his arrows, and she would leap from the shadows and break the neck of the remaining two within seconds.

She turned to Alfie and her amber eyes glowed. Alfie understood, drawing his bow and a well-fletched arrow from his quiver, placing it to his weapon and pulling the bowstring taut. She held a fist in the air, ready to release it as a signal to fire.

Then she heard the wail of a boy. Her body shuddered as she recognized that voice.

"What happened to cuttin' us, boy?" a cruel voice teased, and his jest was answered with the boy's exhausted grunt. "Or were you just all talks? We gave you a blade, yet you can barely lift it!"

A brief clash of steel, followed by an excruciating cry. The pirates' laughter echoed.

Shyvana gritted her teeth and released her fist. Immediately, Alfie let the arrow fly, watching as it whistled through the air just as the half-dragon burst from the shadows, pouncing on the savages with her gauntlets ready.

Plenty of things happened at once.

The arrow buried itself into a pirate's neck, blood spurting from his mouth and wound. His three comrades looked at him with shock, and then Shyvana swung her fist with all her might at the nearest pirate, her eyes mad with fury. One of them still had his blade crossed with the boy's, whose once clever eyes were now filled with raw terror.

Another arrow was embedded in a pirate's eye. The pirate with his blade snarled and pushed, throwing the boy off balance. A second before Shyvana's gauntlet connected with his skull, he slashed at the boy's neck.

Gouts of blood sprayed upon the floor. Her fist slammed into his skull, breaking his bone and killing him on the spot.

Her fists were red-hot with rage, her eyes crazed and hungry for a kill. She turned towards the last one left, who had drawn his pistol and was cursing under his breath. His knees shook as he aimed it at her.

Shyvana's let her draconic side take control and dashed forward. She could hear the crack of gunfire, and she quickly dodged left and right, the bullets missing by an inch. Her speed was demonic, and the pirate fired shots after shots desperately until his clip ran blank. Fear took him then, when the half-dragon loomed before him and punched her burning gauntlet into his chest. Ribs and bones broke, puncturing his lungs and heart. The pirate gasped, before falling to his knees with a weak groan.

After her bloodlust ended, she ran to Rodrik's side, whose eyes were already glassed over as he gasped piteously. His neck bled profusely, and she knew he had only moments left to live.

Rodrik's eyes shone as he saw her. If he saw Shyvana's true appearance, he did not seem bothered by it, whether it was because he was dying or his vision was obscured by the darkness she did not know. The poor boy opened his mouth to speak, yet only blood came from his throat.

Still, he gasped and wheezed, trying hard to form a word. She listened intently and it took her a while to understood what he wanted to ask.

But she could not find it in herself to answer.

She could have lied, and the boy would pass peacefully. But her father had oft told her of the afterlife and how lying to the dead would always bring about unforeseen consequences as they would never rest in peace. Besides, it was disrespectful to lie to the boy. He deserved at least the truth moments before his passing.

And so she answered, "She was spared from the Jagged Hooks. They can't harm her,"

Rodrik's eyes brimmed with tears, his cold hand gripping Shyvana's with surprising strength. Those curious, bright eyes locked with hers, and at that instant she saw how grateful he was for at least giving him closure.

Shyvana nodded, her hand squeezing his lightly.

His eyes then lost the spark of life, and his hand went limp in hers. The young boy's head lolled in her lap.

Another innocent dead.

"My lady?" Alfie's small voice reached her ears, bringing her back to their current predicament. He had already stripped two pirates of their apparel, replacing one of them with his own outfit as he hastily equipped the cuirass. "We must hurry, there is little time left,"

Shyvana nodded grimly, and stood to walk over to the pile of armour already stripped for her. Before she could take a step, however, a cold hand gripped her ankle, anchoring her to the place. She struggled feebly and fell on one knee, grunting painfully as the hand tightened, cold deadly fingers pressing into her flesh hard. Another hand clutched at her blood-stained cloak, pulling her back until she was face-to-face with Rodrik.

The dead boy's eyes and mouth were wide opened. But his orifices were filled with a ghostly pale green glow. Mists coiled and curled from his mouth, eyes, ears and nose, his head lolled to the side with his fatal wound glinting like a second grin. Shyvana's heart plummeted with fright, and she tried to tear away from his grip. However, his hands did not budge, locking her in place.

"_The Black Mist,_" a ghost's voice sang, and it sent shivers down her spine. "_It approaches. Death comes. One more awaits, and what comes after will consume you, Halfling. Your fate is written in suffering. Naught can you do,_"

Shyvana's breaths grew rapid and shallow. Her throat felt constricted, her lungs barely taking in air. Neither could she feel the dead boy's grip as her arms and legs were numb with cold. The flames around her slowed into a long, frightening moan, nor could its warmth reach her. Groans and wails of the dead drifted through her ears, echoing in her mind in a repeated pattern, slowly driving her insane.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to ask for help. But she could not move. She tried to shout to Alfie or the prince or her dead father, but the moment she opened her mouth her voice died in her throat. The mists coiled closer, outlined with shadows, slowly consuming her.

"_The time is nigh,_" Rodrik's cadaverous hands wrapped around her throat. "_The die is cast,_" The hands tightened, cutting off her airway completely. Her vision swam and swirled, before fading into darkness.

* * *

"My lady!"

Shyvana wheezed and coughed and spluttered, her hands instinctively grabbing for her throat. Smooth tiny scales met her touch, and oddly, there wasn't a raw or burning sensation when she had been strangled earlier.

Her heart thundered and her breath was quick. She was laying on her back with Rodrik beside her, his wound already stopped bleeding. His blood pooled around them both and was already soaked into her ragged cloak. When she saw a lad clad in leather cuirass wearing the mark of the Jagged Hooks, she nearly lashed out at him. Then she found the blue eyes and blond hair too familiar to miss.

Alfie bowed over her with concern clear on his face. He was disguised just like the pirate, with ragged cloak tied over his shoulder to hide his bow and quiver of arrows, his hip holding a sheathed scimitar.

She sat upright carefully, her heartbeat and breathing still fast and uncontrollable. She was still frightened and held in a daze – the cold bite of death merely inches from her, and the endless chill and shiver down her spine that could never seem to go away.

"You were talking to the boy before he died," Alfie took out his skin of water and gave it to her, which she accepted gratefully and drank to wet her chapped lips. "I was putting on the pirate's armour, then you suddenly screamed and thrashed about the floor, like you were having a fit,"

Shyvana said nothing, taking small sips from the water skin. Her hands still shook vigorously; which Alfie gave her a nervous glance.

"My lady, are you sure you're –"

"I'm fine," Shyvana snapped, obviously irritated with him. But the tremor in her voice made her sound terrified instead.

She looked to where Rodrik laid, now still and properly _dead_. His empty eyes were fixed on the sky, his mouth hung open in wide terror. Crimson blood covered him from neck to chest, amidst the other pirates whose deaths seemed less messy. Then she remembered what she had to do.

"We need to get going," she stood on trembling knees, heading to a pile of armour laid out for her. "The prince and the others are probably – What are you doing?"

Alfie held his scimitar anxiously, his eyes looking far ahead of her. He pointed with his chin, and Shyvana looked behind.

A large silhouette stood in the dark, far enough that they hoped they couldn't see them. Shyvana started sneaking towards the hidden man, hoping to take him by surprise.

Until a shot rang in the air, startling them both.

"Where do you think you are goin'?"

And pirates began hopping over the rails of the _Seafarer_, wielding scimitars and cutlasses and guns. They were soon surrounded by the Jagged Hooks, all snarling and sneering at the half-dragon. Shyvana quickly drew up her hood, her cloak long and large enough to conceal her entire body, including her gauntlets.

Her anxiety was now gone, replaced by newfound fury. Alfie still held the stolen scimitar, the weapon foreign and unfamiliar to his hand. There were way too many of them to fight back.

She thought of taking on her dragon form and burning these men to crisp, but that would immediately sound the alarm and the cannons of the warship would fire, bringing down the entire ship. Doing that would risk the lives of Jarvan and his men. Not to mention that even a gang large enough could take down a single dragon.

Shyvana thought of the prince, hoping that he was safe and sound. _Strange,_ she mused, lightly laughing to herself. _I must have been too close to him. I never once cared if he lived or died. Yet now I worry for him. _She pushed the thought into the back of her mind when a large figure stepped through the crowd of pirates, her hands flexing around her metal gauntlets, desperately looking for a way to escape.

"What a mess they've made," a large man wearing a worn leather jerkin with a tricorn hat spoke. His left hand held a burning sword while his right held a pistol. "Looks like you survived, cunt. No one usually lives facin' my crew, not a bunch of useless milk-drinkin' traders,"

She kept her head low as the man, obviously the captain of the pirates walked towards her. His footfalls were heavy and loud, giving away his large stature and chiselled figure. She dared not look up, fearing that he might see her odd-looking eyes and have her killed on the spot. She only snuck a glance towards the captain.

And large, he was.

He was probably larger than Jarvan by a head, with his hat casting shadows over his intimidating glare. His hands were so large they looked like they could bend a metal rod effortlessly, and his matching sword and pistol fitted his hands perfectly.

When he looked down at her, Shyvana acted on instinct and took a fearful step back. His grey beard was long and masculine, plus that sneer that never seemed to leave his face, granting him a guttural impression.

He landed a foot on the dead man which Alfie had quickly put his armour on, not knowing that that was his own man. "No one gets away with killin' my men. Either way, I'm impressed. Usually I would reward such _crime _with a bullet to the head, but seems that my crew would rather have your blood spilled,"

The pirates roared in agreement. Shyvana wished they could shut up.

The captain then went back and sat on a crate, putting his gun back into its holster. She tensed when she saw him reaching into his jerkin as though taking something.

Oddly, he pulled out an orange. Snuffing out the flames engulfing his sword, he started peeling the fruit with it, purposely paying no heed to her. Shyvana shot him a puzzled look, watching as juice dripped down his fingers.

"You're lucky we came in time, kid," the captain chuckled at Alfie. "Pretty sure you would've been carved like cake,"

_They think he's one of them,_ Shyvana thought, risking a glance at Alfie. He was at an advantage, he could possibly sneak into the ship and regroup with the others. Still, she looked about hastily, hoping that she could come up with an idea to escape her current plight. Yet she could think of nothing.

Alfie's stolen scimitar was still drawn, pointing at no one in particular. He stared at the captain intently, not understanding what he just said.

And suddenly Shyvana thought of something crazy, that she had no choice but to go with it.

Without warning, she whirled around and launched herself towards the prince's youngest comrade, letting off a battle cry. Alfie's eyes widened in horror, his arms moving on instincts in a defensive position as he lifted the sword high, attempting to intercept her sudden assault.

She prayed to her father, hoping this would work, that the darkness of the night had rendered the pirates blind, leaving them with half-truths on what they were really seeing.

And swiftly she took hold of both Alfie's shoulders with her gauntlets, trying to inflict minimal damage upon the boy. She pushed hard and they both fell onto the floor, with Alfie below her and his sword upright, the gleaming tip pointing towards the half-dragon.

The pain that came afterwards was the worst she had ever felt.

The blade plunged deep into her shoulder, piercing her collar bone and fortunately stopped right there. It would have gone all the way through and out from her back, had Alfie not quickly withdrawn the sword at the last moment. The moment it stabbed her, her vision darkened and dimmed, and she barely felt it when Alfie frantically pushed her until she rolled to her side, so the blade would slide off her shoulder, preventing it from going any deeper.

She fell without resisting at all, her cloak once again wet with fresh blood. Alfie's hands trembled as he held the scimitar, obviously still stunned by what happened. His eyes were wide with guilt and horror, and he wanted to reach out for her, until he met her shining golden eyes, burning fiercely.

"Remember the plan," she whispered, only for his ears. "Find them,"

She resisted the urge to sleep, but it was getting difficult. She heard someone approaching, yet she could feel nothing. All she could feel was _pain._

"Looks like you downed her, mate," the captain clapped a hand on Alfie's shoulder. "Still shakin'? I don't blame you. You faced a tough foe. Be glad that you're still breathin'," Alfie shuddered and shied away from his touch, which the captain took no notice. He bit into his orange and walked towards the half-dragon, while the other pirates clapped the boy on his back.

Shyvana breathed quickly. She struggled to roll to her good side, so it would hurt less. A sharp stab of pain shot through her back and halted her movements when a boot was planted upon her back. Still, she stifled a cry of pain. She will not show weakness before these vile savages.

"Still alive, aren't you?" the captain finished what was left of his fruit and drew his pistol again, this time aiming it at the back of her head. He put pressure on his boot, making her shudder in agony but still refusing to make a sound of pain. "Not so tough now, perhaps? Thinkin' you can take down the whole crew of the Dead Pool by yourself? Pathetic,"

He pulled down the hammer. The pistol clicked.

_This is it_, Shyvana closed her eyes, waiting for her final moment. _I'm sorry, father. _

But it never came.

"But my crew deserves a bit of a spectacle. You'd make a damned good show, would be a shame to kill you now," he put away his gun and stepped away, leaving her bleeding and helpless on the deck of the sinking ship. "It's been the eighth raid, men!" he roared, and was answered with the cheers of the pirates. "Sink this damned ship and take down her flag! Then bring out the rum! For the Kraken!"

The Jagged Hooks shouted and roared in joy, some walked towards her and hoisted her up by her shoulders, dragging her towards their warship. She hissed when one of them touched her wound, but she was too fatigued to snap at him. They bound her wrists and tightened the rope so much that it rubbed her skin raw, but that was the least of her concerns. She looked around for the boy, but he was already nowhere to be seen.

She only hoped that Jarvan and the others had made it out in one piece.

Once in a while, a pirate or two would turn behind and spit a curse at her or make crude jokes about how she would be gutted and killed like a pig. Some even had the audacity to lash a whip at her feet, laughing loudly as she stumbled about like a drunkard.

She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard, forcing herself to control her temper. Her throat burnt with rage, unbearable with the humiliation she had to endure. _Laugh while you can,_ she swore. _I will burn down your precious ship and drag you all into the depths with me, if it needs be. _

Shyvana didn't remember walking across the plank to the warship or being pushed to kneel by some rough-handed sailor. She heard someone shouted something, a command or whatever. And moments later, a loud explosion was heard, deafening and ear-splitting, followed by a few other cannon blasts. Fire rained upon the _Seafarer_, blasting more holes into her and breaking her masts and hull. Soon, the ship split into two with a loud snap, and finally it sank together with her slain crew.

_Rodrik. And poor Reena_, Shyvana mourned. She wanted to lay down and weep for them, but no tears would come, for they were all dried and overwhelmed by fury and a hunger for justice. Justice for Rodrik whom these pirates found it enjoyable to kill, and Reena who never deserved any of it. She could barely feel sadness or pity. Inside her was a raging maelstrom of emotions – anger, agony and hatred.

There was a feast going on, with pirates laughing and jesting, pouring rum from barrels into their mugs and tankards. It soon got brighter as they started placing torches into sconces near the masts of the warship. _They can see me_, that was all she could think of. The pain was far too much. _They can see who I am. Kill them, kill them all. _Her eyes flared with pure hatred, her draconic side wanted to take over.

_No. Hold it in,_ she inhaled deeply, keeping her rage under control. Her emotions were fueling her dragon form, and if she didn't control it well, she would lose it. _The pain, feel it. I must live. I must avenge my father. Avenge him. Avenge him. Avenge him. _

Her eyes dimmed for a brief moment before they burnt again.

_Kill them. Kill all on board. Unleash it. Sink this gods-be-damned ship._ Her fingers tingled with heat, smoke already billowing from her nostrils and mouth.

_No,_ she tried hard to reason with her draconic side, closing her eyes in concentration. _Vengeance_, she repeated like a mantra. _Vengeance. Vengeance. I can't die here, not yet. Remember father. Remember the prince. _

The prince.

She let out a long shaky breath and directed her anger to the part of her body that hurt the most. Using her rage, she summoned small embers beneath her skin to temporarily seal her wound, preventing further blood loss.

Her human side had won. And the excruciating pain suddenly seemed a lot more bearable.

Then the sound of a gunshot. It made her jump.

The loud sounds of the ongoing feast died, and all looked to the source of the sound, where the captain of the Dead Pool stood proud with his pistol pointing at the sky, wisps of smoke curling from the muzzle. His blade was sheathed, and in his hand a mug of rum. "We're forgettin' our manners, mates! Seems we've left our prisoner here sulkin'!"

He walked towards Shyvana, who still knelt with her head low and her hands bound tightly. Her eyes were screwed shut, concentrating on sealing her wound. It may be easy summoning fire using her hands, or just simply engulf herself in fire. But willing it to appear at a certain body part was something she rarely did, and it was proving quite difficult for the half-dragon to control. If not careful, she could cause an explosion which would be _very _distracting. And attention from these men was the last thing she needed.

Her strength was waning, but she forced herself to focus.

He knelt in front of her and whispered harshly, his foul breath close to her nose but she took no notice. "You caused quite a scene back on that ship. Na'rik was the most ruthless pirate in my crew, one of the best. And you killed him. You'll have to pay, and my prices oft demand blood,"

The half-dragon's mind simply shut out his voice, her brow only twitching for a brief moment when he spoke. She could feel her wound closing, her blood already slowing to a trickle.

Irritated by her ignorance, the captain grabbed her by her neck and hoisted her in midair. That took her by surprise, and she kicked her legs furiously as she struggled to breathe. His hand tightened around her throat once before he swung around and tossed her across the deck.

Shyvana crashed a few feet away from him, her body limp like a ragdoll. Fortunately for her, she landed on her good shoulder and not her wounded one. She only grunted and tried to stand to her feet, which proved quite challenging with bound wrists. Before she could get to her knees, the captain took two quick strides towards her and kicked her hard in the side.

She dropped to the floor again. The pirates laughed cruelly at her feeble struggle. He reached down and grabbed her by her cloak, pulling her roughly upright.

"I'll let you choose then, how you'd like to pay the blood price," the captain snapped his fingers. The crowd parted to a few pirates dragging two men, bound like her. They were thrown into the open space right in front of her, groaning and trying their hardest to get on their knees. "By spilling their blood, or yours,"

The half-dragon strained to look at the victims unlucky enough to suffer the same fate as her. Yet when she saw their faces, she gasped.

Markus was beaten to a pulp, his left eye swollen purple and his lips split and bleeding. His nose was obviously broken and twisted in an odd angle, and a nasty gash running down his forehead was still bleeding. He whined piteously, his lips kept moving in a silent prayer with his eyes closed.

The other man, broken and bruised as she was, was stripped of his cloak and equipment, leaving him in a ragged tunic and breeches. Dried blood crusted his neck and cheeks, though she could not find a single mortal wound on him besides the bruises and rashes. Among the three of them, he was the least injured.

He hissed and turned up, looking at her blankly for a few seconds. Her eyes shone a bright orange as she fumed with anger, and his face lit up in recognition, though he did not say a word and pretended not to see her.

_You idiot prince. How could you be so reckless?_

The sharp hiss of a drawn sword drew their attention. The captain sat on a barrel with his sword peeling another orange, his cold eyes and cruel sneer directed at the three of them. "The last one standing gets to live. I don't care what methods you use, strangling or beating each other to death,"

The pirates urged them on, throwing their fists into the sky and some making a wager on who would live. Some simply spat curses at them for killing their mates. Markus fell to his feet and wept silently. Jarvan grimaced. Shyvana snarled.

"You have two minutes, until I decide to kill all of you," he spun his gun menacingly, a thumb toying with the hammer. "Fight like a man, or die like a dog,"

"Shit," Jarvan cursed. He clenched his fists and looked from Shyvana to Markus hopelessly. The captain of the sunken ship looked as distraught as he could be, staring at them both with eyes full of fear and horror. Then his eyes fixed on Shyvana, and his face flickered from terror to remorse.

"You," he growled. "You brought this on me. It is all your fault!"

"Markus, think this through. We can get out of this," Jarvan placated, but Markus continued scorning the half-dragon.

"_Get out of this?!_ I had 'nough with you ill-lucked bastards! Now I lost my ship and all my trading goods because of _you_!"

_Reena and Rodrik_, Shyvana thought. She returned Markus' scornful glare, and he fearfully took a step back. "What of your children then? Have you not a care for them?"

"What of them?"

Jarvan looked at her pleadingly. "Shyvana, please –,"

Shyvana ignored the prince, walked towards Markus in three long steps and slammed a fist across his face.

Markus let off an astonished "Oompf!", and fell to the floor. He tried to get up but his legs were weak and wobbly with fright, entangled by his own limbs. The pirates laughed when he simply fell again.

Jarvan stood there, his jaw dropped.

"Where were you when your son is being slaughtered?" she grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted. "Or when your daughter is wandering around aimlessly, crying for help?"

"My children are none of your business, bitch," he said spitefully.

Shyvana punched again.

"_Do you not have remorse for them?_" her tone was a threatening rumble, like the voice of her in dragon form. That was when Markus broke, his expression changing from that of an angry man to a feared one. He started scrambling backwards, afraid of the beast before her.

So this was what he truly was – a craven, unfit as a captain.

"Y-you don't know nothin'!" he shouted, his voice clearly trembling. "No one runs into Gangplank and gets away with it. Rodrik and Reena… There's nothin' much to be done. I… I had to…"

"And leave them behind while you run with your tail tucked between your legs?"

He said nothing.

She pounced onto him, grabbing his neck and throwing him hard against the wooden deck. She started landing blows after blows upon his swollen face. "You don't deserve them!" one particular punch broke a few teeth. "You fucking traitor! _They were your flesh and blood!_"

_I don't want you anymore_.

Tears prickled her eyes as she kept landing punches. Anger seared her throat and chest.

"Shyvana, enough!" Jarvan hurried towards her. He held both of her shoulders tightly and pulled her back from the former captain, whose face was now so beaten that he was unrecognizable. She writhed and snarled, before whirling back and backhanded the prince in a fit of rage.

She could not hold it back and it was too late. Her armoured fist connected with Jarvan's jaw. A sickening crunch resonated and the prince was slapped hard, falling face-first to the deck.

Shyvana stood there, her face blank and dumbfounded.

"Holy fuck," the prince's voice was muffled. He curled to his side, holding his face in both hands with his eyes screwed tightly in pain. The half-dragon breathed heavily, her hands balled into fists. The ragged cloak wrapped around her body billowed from the heat she emanated. Her amber eyes gleamed bright with anger, and regret.

Whatever Markus did was unforgivable, so why did she feel a pang of guilt within her for what she did?

"Damn, you really could pack a punch," Jarvan mumbled painfully, still holding his broken jaw.

She walked over to help him up, or to apologize, until someone barrelled into her from behind, knocking her down. She was briefly stunned and could barely recover to her senses before Markus pressed his knee hard against her throat, constricting her airway.

She almost fainted when her shoulder flared with pain, suddenly going numb and rendering her immobile. Using her good arm, she clawed at Markus' face, whose eyes were bloodshot and mad. Veins bulged from his forehead, hungry for her blood.

"To hell with you, bitch!" his knee pressed harder. The half-dragon wheezed and rasped. "I ain't givin' a fuck about those two brats, and you shouldn't either!"

Both of his hands went for Shyvana's head, and started slamming her skull against the deck. The first hit almost knocked her out, and she could have screamed had she the strength to do so. She was sure she had drawn blood, driving her nails hard into the swollen and bruised flesh of Markus' cheeks. Still, the pressure on her throat only got stronger, as if he had lost all senses of pain.

"I'll spill your blood!" he howled like a madman. "I will survive! Even if it means getting' rid of those two brats! Why should I fuckin' care if they live or die?! They were just spawns of a whore, a money-launderer!"

Her sight darkened, mouth still opened in a desperate attempt for air.

"Shyvana!" Jarvan quickly got to his feet, stumbling as his head swooned from the devastating blow. He ran towards Markus, who was still slamming her head against the hard floor, his knee pressed hard against her throat. His eyes were dilated and crazed.

"I'll kill them myself just to survive!"

_Twang!_

And suddenly the pressure upon her throat was lifted, the hands grasping her head loosened and released her. Shyvana gasped for air, wheezing and coughing as she was strangled for the second time that night.

Her eyes moved to Markus, only to be met with the face of a madman, his eyes frozen in a mix of insanity and solid fear yet his mouth was hung open in a permanent grin. An arrow was planted deep into one side of his head.

Everyone fell silent, even the pirates. The captain dropped his orange.

Markus' eyes then rolled back into his head and he toppled to one side of the deck. Behind him Jarvan stood rooted and astonished on his spot, looking at Shyvana silently asking the same question.

"How…" the words died on his lips.

The captain rose to his feet and ran his flaming sword right into a barrel, splitting it into two. "Who was that?!" he roared, his eyes searching the crowd madly.

And all on board, looked to the direction where the arrow fired, revealing a young lad holding a bow and his hand slightly apart from the bowstring. Tears were running down his cheeks, his expression spoke of pure hatred. All was silent around them.

The light from the torches brightened the deck. All hell broke lose when the Jagged Hooks realised the young lad was but an impostor.

"Kill them all!"

But Alfie dashed forward, avoiding a thrust of someone's sword. He swiftly nocked another arrow, this time aiming for the captain's head. His hand released and let the arrow fly.

The captain's eyes widened, quickly pulled out his sword stuck in the barrel.

"_Nagakabouros!_"

A flash of ghostly green light blinded them all, ceasing the uproar on board. It lasted for half a second, before the light faded enough that everyone could open their eyes. Beside the captain, an enormous woman appeared out of nowhere, wielding a large golden idol engraved with a face, its mouth and eyes flowing mists of green light. Spectral shapes resembling tentacles swirled to and fro from the idol.

Huge that woman was, with muscles more rippled than the prince and shoulders broad enough that rivalled the captain. Her golden eyes were piercing, making anyone brave enough to stare into them feel uneasy. If it weren't for her breasts and indistinguishable curves, they would have thought her a man.

Whether she appeared or not, it would make no difference. The captain stood sneering at Alfie with his flaming sword near his hip, an arrow snapped into two laying few feet away from him. Ghostly tentacles began sprouting all around the ship, all half as tall as the Dead Pool's masts. Even the pirates appeared frightened, having retreated a little.

"Arrows are slow," the captain doused his flaming sword and sheathed it. "That's why all my mates used guns. If you're trying to sneak into my crew unseen, boy, you just did a pissed poor job,"

A couple of pirates apprehended Alfie, confiscating his bow and arrows. One of them kicked him in the back of his knee, and the boy fell.

Shyvana's shoulders tensed and she wanted to help Alfie, but Jarvan held her back, shaking his head. Slowly he helped her stand, and they both stared at the newcomer warily.

"And what the fuck are you doin' here, Illaoi?" the captain growled, though his tone was softer. "I told you I'd call you if I needed your help," his beard bristled with underlying rage.

But the woman seemed unfazed and held her head high. She was slightly taller than the captain, and the large heavy idol on her shoulder only made her seemed bigger. Nonetheless, both of them seemed to be equal in everyone's eyes.

If the captain was the king of the ship, this woman was the queen.

"Of course you don't need my help," she said with sarcasm, and her Bilgewatian accent was heavy. "I hope you haven't forgotten our deal, Gangplank. Unless you wanted your ship swarmed with undead,"

"I've made offerings to the Mother Serpent, to _your _god,"

The woman named Illaoi steeled her demeanour. "Weak demands of weak gods. My god demands naught but motion. You were supposed to bring me potential disciples worthy for the truth, not have them kill each other,"

Gangplank spat. "Unless you counted these sick cowards as worthy. I'm doing you a favour to not waste your time,"

"Fear sometimes forces one to retaliate," Illaoi countered. "He nearly strangled that one to death out of fear, until the arrow took him,"

"This is my business, Illaoi, so stay out of it!"

"What harm is there to let them know the truth?" she remained stubborn. "You know what happens to those who fail the trials. You've seen it yourself, though you remain untested,"

The captain went silent, then muttered a curse under his breath.

"That one killed my best men," Gangplank pointed at Shyvana. "Make her pay, and that proud dimwit as well,"

The captain stepped back and gave way to Illaoi. Shyvana glanced at Jarvan with a puzzled look, which the prince flashed her a cocky grin. "I'll tell you later, this won't be easy," he whispered, looking at the tentacles nervously, then at Illaoi, whose posture spoke of power and confidence.

Illaoi threw her golden idol down, nearly shattering the wooden boards of the deck. With a voice akin to thunder, she bellowed, loud enough for all to hear. "Behold!"

Jarvan and Shyvana fell into a stance, prepared for combat. The prince held up his fists as he had no weapons, trying his best to look intimidating.

"I will teach you the truth of Nagakabouros," Illaoi's grip on the idol's handle tightened, and green tentacles materialized from the crevices of the idol. "Life is an ocean! Swim forward or drown. Prove yourself worthy of your life!"

She swung the idol hard, a tentacle bursting forth and reaching for the prince. It was too fast for them to dodge, and Jarvan could only hold up his arms in defence. One moment, it plunged deep into Jarvan's chest, trespassing the physical barrier of flesh and bone. The next, he was thrown back like a ragdoll, his eyes wide with shock and fright, leaving a white-green mist of the prince's visage.

The white-green figure stood frozen, wisps of smoke curling from its faint outline, looking exactly like the prince. Meanwhile, Jarvan laid on the deck unmoving, his eyes staring blankly into the sky.

More tentacles appeared around the prince. In unison, they reared backwards and slammed upon the prince, burying him in a mass of spectral appendages.

Alfie shouted for the prince. Shyvana snarled and faced Illaoi. She charged towards her.

Illaoi had quick reflexes, and hefted her idol before swinging hard. The heavy weight caught the half-dragon square in her wounded shoulder, propelling her away from Illaoi.

"Move, Halfling," she reprimanded, bringing the idol upon her shoulder again. "If you can't, then die,"

Shyvana spat, feeling uneasy that she somehow knew her true nature.

"You don't have to tell me!" she charged again.

Three to four tentacles shot towards her and wrapped around her limbs, immobilizing her and leaving her suspended in mid-air. Illaoi's eyes bored into hers, and for a moment Shyvana thought she saw a hint of disappointment in those golden eyes.

But all was forgotten when she swung the idol again, a tentacle ripping forth from its mouth. It went past her chest, just like what happened to the prince, and the half-dragon suddenly felt coldness spreading throughout her body from the inside. Fear and paranoia had her in its grasp.

The tentacle gripped onto something hard, and pulled. The half-dragon screamed as she felt herself being torn apart, like it was attempting to separate her soul from her body. Pain and numbness overwhelmed her, but she held on for dear life, screaming and gnashing her teeth as the tentacle inside her tried to overcome her resistance.

Illaoi was astonished. Her brows furrowed as she pulled the idol backwards, a new surge of green energy giving it strength, making it pull even harder.

Shyvana struggled. It was unbearable – like her body was being quartered in slow motion. The tentacles holding her pulled her body back, forcing her to submit. Her soul began to emerge from her body and was on the verge of being ripped apart from her flesh. Only her fingertips and toes remained tethered to her body.

She felt a daunting foreign spirit in her mind, whispering sweet nothings in her ears and imploring her to give up. Her last ounce of strength was fading.

A memory flashed. And she remembered she must live.

"_Never!_" she roared, commanding her spirit and body to merge. Flames burnt from her limbs and chest as both her soul and flesh fell back into place. The tentacles lost and broke their hold on her, instantly vapourising into thin air and leaving nothing behind. The half-dragon dropped to the floor, her body on fire.

She panted. Forget about the wounds that had inflicted upon her. This was the most terrifying experience she ever had. Flames circled her and died as she glared at Illaoi, who only looked at her approvingly.

Gangplank's face was a mask of stone – if he seemed surprised by her control over fire, he did a great job hiding it. The other pirates looked at her with a new kind of fear. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief.

The half-dragon looked towards the mass of tentacles where the prince was buried under. For a few moments it seemed as though the prince had remained still, his doppelganger still standing a few feet away from him. Then _something _budged.

"Leave…" the mass of tentacles slowly rose, revealing Jarvan who tried to hold their heavy weight. "… me… BE!"

Tentacles snapped around the prince's neck and leg, anchoring him to the ground to keep him down. Jarvan groaned and stood, his legs faltering as his arms bore the burden of the deadly weight. His soul stood just a few steps from him. The tentacles continued to pull him back, just as he began trudging towards his spirit, his fingers reaching out desperately for it.

More spectral appendages halted his movement. One tightened around his fingers, and snapped them.

The prince gurgled something, making unintelligent noises. It felt as though the shell of Jarvan was the one struggling to stay alive and not the prince itself. The body was seeking for its lost soul, and would never be whole and sane until they merged.

Still, the empty vessel continued walking forward. The spirit was fading, the white-green hue of it growing fader each passing second.

Finally, his broken fingers touched the outline of his spirit, and Jarvan found the strength to reach further, breaking the tentacle's captivity. Getting stronger, he started ripping apart the tentacles wrapped around him, and pushed.

The tentacles vanished. Jarvan's momentum threw him forward, his body and soul finally becoming one again. He fell face-first and laid there, breathing heavily.

Gangplank stood.

"They passed," Illaoi commented. She sounded pleased. "Few can survive the Test of Nagakabouros. You both, are in motion," The wisps of pale green light grew faint and then disappeared, leaving the idol a dull golden colour.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Shyvana grunted. Her cloak was almost singed, already blackened with soot though she tried to keep the flames as far from the fabric as possible. The pirates could see her face now, clear as day, but now that was the least of her concerns.

"The Truth Bearer," Illaoi answered curtly. "I serve Nagakabouros, who is the sky and the ocean. What I had just shown you was the truth. Life itself is a motion, and you have proven yourself worthy of the Serpent's trials,"

Jarvan stood shakily. "Now what? Throw us overboard to feed the sharks?"

Illaoi smirked, which unnerved them both. "My god has shown me visions. Visions of dark tidings. The Black Mist is nigh. And the creatures of the Mist oppose the way of the universe. It is my duty to send them back to where they belong, and to find the ones deemed worthy by Nagakabouros,"

"I don't care about your fucking god," Shyvana snarled.

"And you don't choose Nagakabouros. The Kraken chooses you. We are all but the god's instruments, living as Nagakabouros intends, whether you like it or not," she smirked again. "And even if you reject, what can you do? The undead has marched across the sea, they will be here at any moment. Your only option is to fight to survive,"

Pirates began to murmur to each other uneasily. Gangplank's lips curled in a hateful grimace, walking towards the prince and the half-dragon.

"I never asked for this parley," he growled. His eyes glowered as he stared at Shyvana. "Though I've no choice. You intrigued me, _beast_. Bleed for me, and you'll never go poor for the rest of your life. Refuse, and walk the plank,"

"If you think we fear death, you haven't been paying attention," Jarvan said haughtily.

The captain then flashed a wicked grin. "Of course you don't," he pulled out his gun and pointed at Alfie, who was still held by the pirates. "How about I kill that little twat over there?"

Both of them hesitated.

"Maybe I should show you how fast a bullet flies," his finger rested on the trigger.

"_Captain!_"

All heads turned towards the top of the middle mast, where a pirate with a spyglass pointed north. His face was pale and affright.

Then a strong force crashed against the hull of the Dead Pool, teetering slightly. Pirates staggered and quickly balanced themselves, most of them already drawing their weapons for to defend themselves from an ambush. Gangplank sneered.

"Get to your places, you sons o' whores!" he bellowed, and the crew started moving about. "Get her moving! Faster! Someone take the fucking helm and get her moving!"

Sails unfurled. Anchor weighed. The helmsman spun the wheel and the ship changed course. However, the sails fluttered only once and twice, then stopped dead.

"Cap'n!" The helmsman cried. "Wind is dead! We can't get movin'!"

"Second time for today," Jarvan sighed, only loud enough for Shyvana to hear.

"I guess having a woman on board really brings bad luck," the half-dragon crossed her arms.

Someone at the deck shouted in alarm. Ahead of the ship was the silhouette of a gigantic, armoured figure trudging through the waves. Two red eyes burnt and were fixed on the ship. Cannons began reeling towards it. "Load the Death's Daughter!" Gangplank commanded.

There was no wind, yet the sea raged.

The figure trudged forward, and a huge tidal wave crashed upon the stern, tilting the ship slightly. It soon moved in a position like it was about to throw an object, something heavy that could possibly deal lethal damage.

"Change course!" but it was too late. A huge anchor was thrown forward, damaging one side of the ship as it crashed through wood. The cannons remained untouched, fortunately. The Dead Pool teetered again, and everyone on board struggled to maintain their balance.

The sailor atop the middle mast shouted again. "Captain! From south-west!"

Everyone needed no light to see what was coming from that direction, to clearly see what was coming.

A rolling dark mist raced across the ocean, covering the skies and the sea in pitch black. Thunder flashed within the mist, showing blue-green ghosts moaning and wailing from afar. The sounds were a blend of agonized screams of all ages, from infants to old men and women, as if the dead was still singing in sorrow.

"Fuck!" Gangplank cursed, pushing the helmsman aside and steering the ship himself. "We are flanked! Arm all cannons and bring on the ballistae! No one runs off or I'll rip your fucking cocks and push it down your throats!"

The Black Mist came closer and closer. The dark figure ahead of them pulled on the chain of its anchor, drawing it back for a second strike.

"And so it begins," Illaoi's eyes narrowed. She gripped her idol with both hands, and it roared back into life again, tentacles dancing aggressively around her. She turned towards them both. "Either you both help, or move out of my way,"

"Your call, prince," Shyvana tightened her gauntlets.

"Not like we have a choice," Jarvan sighed. "Return me my lance,"

* * *

**As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Do tell me how you feel about this chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17: Victims of Discord

**Chapter 17: Victims of Discord**

Another crash rocked the _Dead Pool_, nearly toppling ammunition and weapons aboard the warship. Pirates frantically unfurled the sails and loaded the ballistae – huge, sinister metal chariots, armed with a launching mechanism where a wicked silver spear would be loaded. From below, pirates howled in anguish as they pushed the barrels of the cannons. The largest cannon, Death's Daughter was at the hull of the ship, protruded right above the bulwark, its gleaming black barrel oiled to perfection.

This time the enormous anchor was hooked to one side of the ship, nearly punching a hole through the base of the ship. The bulwark was tough enough to withstand the blow, but could be seen dented where the anchor had crashed earlier. It was buried deep into the wooden side of the ship, and judging from the screams Gangplank heard, some of the pirates were hit. Gruesomely.

Upon the starboard the captain stood, and he watched as his helmsman frantically steered the wheel, struggling to keep the ship in balance. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the black, lurking creature no longer pulled back his anchor, which a long rusted chain was hooked to its murky armour. Instead, the creature hung on the chain, pulling itself closer to the ship.

The anchor kept him above the surface, and he was using _his _ship for his dredge.

"_Cap'n!_" one of the pirates roared somewhere. "Death's Daughter ready to fire!"

Gangplank drew his flaming sword, and thrust it into the air.

"_Fire!_"

A loud, resonating crack filled the air, with a bright blast illuminating the ship from the front. The recoil shook the ship, and they watched as a cannonball sailed through the air in a wide arc, falling towards the giant metal creature.

It fell and fell. Then it found its mark.

The cannonball exploded in a white-hot spark of flames. Jets of water and fire shot up to the sky, surrounding the metal creature in vapour and water droplets. The pirates did not stop to cheer or celebrate, they continued loading the weapons, preparing for the upcoming combat.

Behind him, the Black Mist came closer and closer, the moans and wails of the undead growing louder and louder. Despite his years of fearless feats and hard-earned cruel reputation, the captain found his sword hand trembling slightly. True enough, he had taken the Noxian general's galley and killed the crew without hesitation. He raided a sacred temple in Ionia and earned a bounty for his head. Still, he had never faced an army of undead, and this was just the beginning.

But his nervousness was easily conquered, easily turned to excitement. If he made it through, he would be the first captain whose ship had survived the notorious Black Mist. The only man in Valoran who had seen and carved a path through the Mist.

There would be no seas he could not brave, no sea monsters he could not kill. Gangplank grinned. Even if he were to die here, the sailors of Bilgewater would sing of his name, a song filled with his deadliest adventures and most fearsome raids.

His chest swelled with pride, and he couldn't help but wonder about his father. _Are you seeing this, old fool? The kid you always thought of nothin', ended up putting a sword through your back. Well, he's doing something you ne'er did._

And he thought of his prize, hidden and locked within the captain's cabin. A treasure that would worth any trove discovered from the depths of the Guardian's Sea. If the _Dead Pool_ were to ever meet its end here, engulfed by the Black Mist, the prize would be his last resort.

No, he would not die here. Gangplank had not lived enough, and he felt he had more adventures in store.

His gaze dropped to the boy bound to the middle mast, the archer who had revealed himself as none other but a spy, obviously related to the other two who had just passed Illaoi's trials. The boy did not struggle or attempt to flee, but he swore he could see the fear of the unknown within those wide eyes. He would deal with him later.

Then of course, the so-called 'champions'.

_An odd pair,_ Gangplank mused. Both clad in ragged cloaks and weathered garbs, they even wielded strange weapons. The mysterious figure with a pair of red and gold gauntlets; covered head to toe by the cloak with the hood pulled over to conceal the figure's face, and the man who always seemed so regal and proud. His face may be full of bruises and scabs from earlier fights, but with his lance returned, so did his confidence. Both of them stood close to each other, their weapons ready for battle.

He thought of what to do with them if they all survived. He would love to see them walk the plank, to raise the crew's morale right after a gruesome fight like this. But it would be a waste of talent.

Gangplank's thoughts were disrupted when the giant creature emerged from the depths again, still holding fast to the chains of his anchor.

_Persistent creature_, Gangplank sneered. "Cannons ready!" he roared, and the ship changed its course, turning to the side so that the creature was faced with a barrage of cannons. He could hear the sound of gunpowder barrels and cannonballs rolling across the wooden deck deep within the gunship deck. They were all frantic, desperately loading the cannons as quick as possible.

Ten to twenty cannons fired. The giant was bombarded by multiple shots. It staggered and swayed, still it did not fall back. Still it approached.

"Again!" Gangplank bellowed. He tried to ignore the sounds of the dead behind him, but already he could feel cold air seeping down his neck. They were near.

From the corner of his eyes, Illaoi raised her god's idol. She nodded, telling him she was ready.

_I hope you know what you're doin', woman, _he turned away, feigning a look of apathy towards the Truth Bearer. His eyes were fixed on the giant metal creature, so desperate to reach their ship.

The captain raised his burning sword. "_Fire!_"

* * *

When the harsh bite of cold wind first washed over them, they knew the dead had come. The moans and cries of the ghosts were already loud enough for all to hear. Soon, the _Dead Pool _reeked of decay and rot, the heavy stench overwhelming and nauseating.

The pirates were clearly afraid, their sword hands trembling terribly. The cannons never stopped firing, but their efforts to stop the lumbering titan was futile.

Jarvan gripped the hilt of his lance with both hands, his back towards Gangplank. He knew Illaoi was behind him, and she could put a sword through his back anytime. Yet he wasn't worried – he knew the half-dragon always had his back.

Shyvana's back was close to his, almost touching. And Jarvan found comfort in the contact, though their ragged cloaks and garbs were in the way.

"You haven't told me," the half-dragon said softly, only loud enough for him to hear. "How did you get captured?"

Had their situation not been so grim, Jarvan would have grinned cheekily. What he did on the _Seafarer _was foolish and suicidal, but it worked nonetheless. At first glance Jarvan could tell which man was a cruel savage and which was just a pretentious scoundrel. And the captain had stood out like a sore thumb. They clearly needed an escape plan, and Jarvan told them his plan – by targeting the captain, then capture his ship.

And he could have planted the dagger right into his throat. Until Markus turned up and shouted like a madman, held by other pirates. By then, Lance and August had already slipped away, nowhere to be found, just as they had planned earlier.

He only hoped that Lance and August would succeed.

Knowing that Shyvana was still waiting for his reply, Jarvan answered. "I'll tell you if we make it out alive. How's your shoulder?"

Surprise flickered across her face, which Jarvan only snorted.

"I saw you holding back each time you use that arm. And the blood… Have they wounded you badly?"

Looking over her shoulder, Shyvana's eyes dimmed slightly. Her lips were held in a taut line, and she was quiet before she answered him. "Not my blood. And it's just a sprain. Nothing much,"

He knew she was lying, but he only nodded.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied dumbly. "But I hope they have found a way to escape. They are just too good at sneaking,"

The _Dead Pool _listed slightly. Illaoi's Eye of God glowed even brighter, the ghastly green a contrast to the darkness around them.

"And you sneak like a fucking bear with bells all over it," the half-dragon snorted. "Pray tell, how is it you are the one that gets in trouble all the time?"

Gangplank screamed another order. Jarvan and Shyvana still stood back-to-back, with the half-dragon looking over her shoulder.

The prince flexed his hands. "Sucks being chivalrous,"

And at that moment, Shyvana turned towards him and threw a flaming fist forward, landing a blow just two inches left of the prince's cheek. It collided with flesh; snapping bones and tearing skin apart, before the unknown creature screeched and dropped harmlessly.

Jarvan responded with a quick jab of his lance, piercing his assailant. The tip of his lance went through it without resistance, earning another sharp hiss from the wounded creature upon the floor.

When he withdrew his lance, he took a closer look to the creature. Was it just him, or had the torches grown dimmer?

The creature that laid still on the deck was neither alive nor dead. Its skin was all rotted to the point it had become bloated and black. Its head was shrivelled, the eyes missing with only two hollowed holes in its place. Patches of dead skin and flesh hung limply from parts of its body, garbed in decayed and tattered rags. It laid still, showing no signs of resistance.

"First kill?" Illaoi raised her Eye of God and rested it on her shoulder. Already a few tentacles had sprouted from the deck, swaying back and forth, looking for prey.

Before the prince could answer, the torches went out completely, leaving them in the dark. There was silence at first, even the booms of the cannon blasts and the creak of the listing ship had died.

Then the _Dead Pool _went into a frenzy.

Screams and shouts flooded the entire sea, preceded by the sounds of gunfire and drawn swords. A cold gust of wind washed over the deck, and the dark wisps of death came with it. A thousand cries filled the prince's ears – ghostly and pitiful, agonizing and appalling, beseeching him to release them from their miseries.

Jarvan shuddered. A clawed hand grabbed his ankle, making threatening hissing noises. The prince acted on his reflexes and shoved his lance, silencing the creature.

"Shyvana!" he shouted as loud as he could, but the deafening uproar drowned his voice. He could barely see, let alone understand what was happening around him. He tried to pinpoint the half-dragon's call among the sea of wails and chaos, yet it was difficult to flush out the whispers of the undead.

He called out for her again, warding off unknown assailants with his lance. He could not see, but he could hear them, their terrible hisses and croaks, and their groans of endless torture. Every time one of them got too close, Jarvan would thrust with his lance, then a creature would be silenced for some time.

But every time a voice died, it would somehow grow twice as loud.

"…_.save the king…_"

"… _them! Kill them – Uarghh!"_

"… _light the fucking torches!_"

"… _seize… seize the Isles…_"

"… _traitor's pets! You killed her…!_"

"…_-kabouros, guide me…_"

"Shit," Jarvan faltered in his steps, cupping one hand over his ear and the other holding his lance. It was too loud for him, a crowd of screams and yells comprised of pirates giving orders or pleading for help, and unknown voices speaking in almost a dozen languages. Each time he grasped onto words he tried to comprehend, his head would pulse in pain.

He kept calling out for Shyvana. His eyes saw nothing, yet he could hear everything. Clawed hands and cold steel gauntlets grasped his limbs, which he did his best to shake them off while trudging forward. The noise was driving him insane, slowing his movement to a crawl. More hands held onto him tightly, and for every hand that took hold of him, the whispers in his ears amplified.

He could ward them off no longer.

He thought he heard his name being called somewhere, followed by a brief explosion. But his mind was muddled by the endless whispers that he struggled to comprehend, hence he did not think twice of what he heard. He felt so tired, the unknown hands forcing him back and halting his movements. Soon, the air became sharp and cold, as though he was breathing in shards of glass, and he felt like he was drowning in a cold sea, the chill seeping deep into his flesh and then into his bones. Out of nowhere, bards and maidens sang into his ears, imploring him, seducing him.

"_Accept this gift… The Mist… Come… To the Blessed Isles…_"

Before he could close his eyes and stop moving, a long tentacle wound itself around his waist, and pulled _hard._

All the hands released him at once. The sweet voices of the maidens and bards suddenly heightened into shrieks. He jolted awake, his eyes suddenly opened as his face was smacked hard against the deck. It was brighter than earlier, though he could only see silhouettes and no more.

"Stand, prince," a large figure stood before him, and Jarvan did not have to guess to know it was Illaoi. "Don't let them catch you off guard again," she handed over his lance, which he took grudgingly.

"I did not see them coming," he grunted. "Wait, how did you know -"

"The Mother Serpent showed me more than just the Black Mist," she vaguely cut him off. "I know of your coming, and the Halfling, which is why I intervened before Gangplank could have you both executed,"

Jarvan's face twisted in a grimace. He took a few steps back until there was a safe distance between him and Illaoi, with his lance between them. The priestess of the Great Kraken simply took him no heed.

"This is not the end. What comes after is a storm much worse than the Mist, and it's very near. And you and her have a part to play when it comes, just as everyone else. You are meant to go home, prince. To lead,"

Jarvan remained unconvinced. "Your preaching meant nothing to me. Why should I believe someone who is an accomplice of a pirate king?"

"Because it's the only way," her voice rose in anger. "All beings serve the universe and shall move in favour of the universe. Those who stop will die. You either get swallowed by the Mist or do as you must to survive. Either way, get out of my way,"

She turned away and lifted the Eye of God. Jarvan just stood there, dumbfounded by her response. Tentacles sprouted around her, swiping and snatching up ghosts and undead before throwing them back into the sea.

"I won't tell Gangplank of your identities. Nagakabouros has plans for you and the Halfling, and I won't spoil it. Speaking of her, she would probably need some aid now," she swung her idol hard, knocking enemies up in the air before they were snatched by the tentacles. Illaoi grabbed a nearby torch, its embers almost dying and only illuminated a small radius around it. She threw it to Jarvan, which he caught in midair.

The prince did not think twice and turned away from Illaoi, with only a meagre flame guiding him around the ship. The noises in his ear was almost gone, and he could think clearly now. With his newfound determination, Jarvan looked around for any trace of the half-dragon, before Illaoi spoke again.

"I know how you feel about her, prince," her tones were gentle, yet hard. "Follow your desires,"

Jarvan pretended that he heard nothing, and walked towards where he thought he saw a bright explosion.

* * *

"_Why do you run?_"

The voice echoed in her mind, cutting off all sources of noise. She kept running, barging into battles unintentionally and forced to fight off a horde of enemies wanting her blood. Her vision was blinded and she could no longer tell the dead from the living, or the living from the dead. Everywhere people fought for their lives, yet death was always at their doors.

One time she was nearly cleaved into half by a man with a large axe. She quickly dodged, with the blade only grazing her arm, before she returned his onslaught with a wide swipe of her gauntlet upon his head. She swore she heard his neck snap. She swore she felt the edge bite through her attacker's skin and flesh, and she saw how he fell without a sound.

Yet when she drew back, there was no hint of blood on her gauntlet. Only black bits of decayed flesh and the stale stench of body fluids.

Then the felled man stood again, this time his head tilted badly to one side. She saw only his silhouette, then two pits of baleful eyes opened, glaring at her, muttering curses of an unknown language.

Her heart leaped with fear. Without hesitation, she gathered flames in her fists, her panic giving her a surge of strength.

The moment her gauntlets grew hot she threw the flames forward. A huge mass of heat collided with the undead, and it exploded instantly. She turned on her heel and ran again.

"_Do you not hear their songs? The beautiful laments of freed souls, soon to rise into a requiem?_"

She could have been less scared if it hadn't been the same voice that possessed Rodrik moments after his passing. Or was it merely a hallucination? Or a dream? Yet it seemed so real to her – the nightmarish fiend taking hold of the dead boy's body, cursing her with an eternal life of suffering.

Everywhere she went, it was sure to follow. Each time she hid, a cold gust of wind would sweep over her, followed by that sing-song voice – soothing, yet deadly.

"_You cannot run from death, half-dragon. When will you ever accept it?_"

Shyvana dodged past a spectral tentacle sweeping in a wide arc, shattering an army of skeletons whose eyes were blood-red holes of malice. Yellowed bones clattered to the ground, together with their rusted shields and broken swords. It took her moments to realize she was in the middle of the ship, where the largest mast stood tall with its swaying flag, and where the central of the battle took place.

She stood there, panting heavily. Pirates fought and screamed. Cannons loaded and fired. The never-ending _shink_ of the ballistae perforating the uproar, hurling large metal spears at the titan they struggled to hold off. Everywhere blood spilled. Everywhere the undead moaned and wailed and screamed, some roaring a battle cry, some just wanting to be freed.

At that moment, time seemed to slow. She could see all activity aboard the _Dead Pool_, the dying and the ones fighting for their lives, the undead killing one after another, their bloodlust never satisfied. All the while, Shyvana was rooted to the floor.

"_Everywhere you go,_" someone spoke behind her ear, and she could feel his cold breath on her cheek. "_Death follows,_"

Shyvana turned quickly and swung her arm behind, hoping to land a punch on whoever that was behind her. But there was no one behind, and her arm only passed through thick air.

Soon, the cold was too much to bear. The half-dragon tried to summon heat to warm herself up. However, she could find no warmth inside her. Frantically, she lifted her hand and tried to summon a fireball. There was a spark or two, then a tiny mote of flame, but it winked out immediately.

She started breaking out in cold sweat, her hands shivering in fear.

And that was when she realized that time had stood still completely. The fighting had ceased, but everyone froze at whatever they were doing. Some had their weapons and shields raised. Missiles fired hung in mid-air. The ship stopped listing.

Shyvana expelled a breath she did not know she was holding.

"_Is this how death feels?_" she turned behind her, and the sight before her made her shudder. Floating in the air was a spectral man dressed in purple and maroon ceremonial robes within a worn-out breastplate, and a priest-like headdress adorned like a crown. At his right hip hung a heavy tome bound with a thick cover etched with carvings and runes, emanating an ancient power. The ghost held a sceptre in his hand – a long staff with a glowing ball of spectral light at one end, just like his eyes.

Acting on her instincts, she channelled energy upon her palms again to summon her flames. However, it was as though all the warmth had left her, leaving her freezing and stripped of her abilities beneath the ghost's undying gaze.

The half-dragon found herself frozen and unable to move. She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn't stop trembling from fright.

"_Such a wondrous moment. And yet all mortals see it as a tragedy, an atrocity to be avoided. Do they not feel the sweet kiss of death, so close to their lips?_" the ghost grinned, his smile disturbing to all mortal men. "_Perhaps this is how a man at his last moments sees – time slowing, his pain and fear amplifying, his life ebbing away… How I envy those who felt it for the first time,_"

He floated closer. Shyvana desperately tried to stay away from him, her legs tangled together as she fell on her rump. Her eyes were still wide in fear, fixed on the spectral figure who had begun flipping his tome, the yellowed and crisp pages flipping past at the speed of light.

"_And you reeked of fear, child,_" the tome stopped flipping at a particular page. "_So unlike of you – the brave, hot-headed Halfling on a quest for vengeance. Your life is as it is depicted in _here_, full of hate and suffering, never resting. Such is the pain of mortality,_"

Her heart was beating fast like a frightened horse. There was a feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. At that moment, she knew that she would die anytime. Just a lift of his finger, and she would drop dead to the floor, in an enemy's ship in the middle of nowhere.

Shyvana was not afraid of death, but this lich triggered the hidden fear in her. Just his presence alone had scared her to the brink of death. And her inability to summon her flames left her vulnerable and defenceless. And she hated feeling defenceless.

"_You aren't wrong,_" the ghost sang. "_Just a wave of my sceptre and you'll be free of your mortality. We all have a chance to become something divine, and yet you're so willingly bound to this cage you called _life_,_"

"Get out of my head. Who do you think you are?" her voice trembled with fear, but at least she found the courage to speak.

"_Someone close to godliness, or if you prefer, an apostle of the dead. Though my pilgrimage had just started not long ago. I give you all a gift, but no one revels in the sight of death. But that boy who died in your lap,_"

Shyvana went rigid.

"_A miserable tale of two siblings, they had to beg in the streets of Bilgewater when their parents abandoned them. It took the boy a long time to convince his father to let him work on his ship, just so the girl could live and never go hungry. Such innocent souls should never suffer such fate. Do you not agree?_"

She clenched her fists tightly.

"_But I freed them_," the lich spread his arms proudly, his aura engulfing him like a glowing capsule of spectral light. "_I released them from this prison of life. There's no beauty for the living, only pain and woe. Do you see it now? What is there to fear?_"

There was still fear inside her, but rage boiled as well. Her fear of the lich abated a little, knowing that she could not agree with his cruel ideology. Her heart clenched in guilt for the two poor siblings. Somehow, she felt that they suffered a fate more dreadful than hers – at least she could protect herself, those two were just children after all.

"Life itself is a gift," Shyvana spoke with a firmer tone, the quiver in her voice more controlled. "It's not for you to decide that all mortals should die in the ways you favour,"

The ghost laughed. "_Lies you fools keep telling yourselves, until you forget what is true and what is not. It matters not. Belief is, after all, the death of reason, an illusion that clouds you mortals' judgement. Soon enough you'll see through this fallacy you so desperately cling to,_"

He rose higher and higher, his death aura swirling in a storm about him. Remnants of ghosts and shards of souls whirled around his sceptre as he spread his arms, their wails escalating into a shrill crescendo, the music of the tortured souls.

"_I said what I had to say_," his voice echoed to all corners of the ship, breaking the silence. "_I'll leave the rest to the Shadow of War. That fool only knows killing, and none other. Know that I'll be watching you, half-dragon. When your end comes, we will meet again, and I'll make it worthwhile,_"

"The Shadow of War?" she muttered under her breath.

The ghost only laughed. "_Everywhere you go, death follows_,"

* * *

The whinnying of horses was what caught his attention. Already he had had his seventh kill, another undead put to rest at the tip of his lance. The cries of the ghosts had gone down a little, only to be replaced with what sounded like the clops of horse hooves, which he found absurd.

_Horses on a ship?_ Jarvan frowned. _Gangplank sure is a queer man. Unless they were to be butchered for meat? But what pirate would load animals on his ship?_

His question was answered when a loud neigh startled him. From his far left, something charged towards him. The prince quickly tossed away his torch and rolled away, the remaining embers smothered upon the deck.

The being charged past him, before changing its course and halted. Jarvan took the time to catch a glimpse at the being, and the sight of the spectral glow simply made him shudder.

A headless spectral man, fully clad in worn steel armour and mounted atop an armoured spectral steed. Their glowing green forms were sealed by the pieces of armour they wore, binding them forever to this mortal world. He held a glaive, its curved edge aimed directly at him. The horse whinnied impatiently, its empty eyes staring at the prince disturbingly. If the horseman still had his head, he would be looking directly at him, glowering.

"Hell," Jarvan cussed. "I had enough spooks for the night,"

The horseman responded by snapping his reins, and the horse charged.

The horseman was fast, his speed almost as fast as a blink of an eye. Jarvan's eyes widened in horror as he realized he couldn't dodge the glaive, so he raised his lance protectively, hoping to block the attack. The glaive and the lance clashed, the glowing blade hissing as it crossed with real steel, and the speed of the horse threw Jarvan off the ground, making him fall.

The prince cursed, recovered from his fall, and spun his lance overhead as it met another attack from the horseman, their blades clashing again. Jarvan fell on his back, but the horseman now pressed his glaive hard against the lance, forcing him to the floor. The horse loomed over him, snapping and biting while its master pulled cruelly on its reins.

"_Give up_," a voice growled, and Jarvan knew it was from the horseman. He expertly pulled on the reins on one hand and held the glaive in another, forcing the prince on his back. Jarvan's steel hissed and rattled, and it wasn't long before he noticed green mist emerging from the edge of his lance, and the image of his weapon slightly fading.

Knowing that his lance could not win in this struggle, Jarvan mustered his strength and rolled to the side, the glaive lurching forward and stabbed deep into the wooden deck where the prince once was.

"_Your lady is slain. General Hecarim will replace her. Now you will join her_!" the horseman spat, spun his glaive and charged again.

"You obviously got the wrong person!" Jarvan shouted. This time he was ready, and did not even bother blocking. He rolled to the side, the glaive swung in a wide arc right above his head. And instead of slashing the prince, the glaive struck the body of a pirate cowering in a corner. Jarvan wouldn't have known he was there had he not screamed.

And the prince watched in horror as the blade that was buried deep in the pirate's throat glowed twice as intense.

The pirate had stopped screaming, his eyes fixed in terror and fear, his hands clutching the shaft of the glaive. Then the pirate glowed as well, and before he died, his skin instantly aged from a middle-aged man to someone who was centuries old before crumbling into dust. His flesh fell from his bones, before his bones fell and laid scattered on the spot, until the bones and flesh disintegrated into nothing but a pile of ashes and ragged clothes.

The horseman freed his glaive, turned to the prince who stared, his expression akin to one who just woke from a nightmare.

He took a step back in fear, like a deer cowering before a lion.

The horse reared and neighed, and the horseman raised his glaive, ready to deal the fatal blow.

"_Long live the Iron Order!_" he snapped the reins, and the horse sped towards the prince.

As his last resort, Jarvan raised a hand. Instantly, a bright yellow orb surrounded him, and bathed the darkness with the light of the Golden Aegis. The familiar hum of the ancient magic that was passed down generations of Lightshields echoed in every corner.

The horseman was caught off guard and tried to pull his reins, but it was futile. He slammed full force into the shield, leaving his horse dazed and throwing themselves to the deck. The glaive fell from his hand and clattered a few feet away.

Without hesitation, Jarvan dispatched his magic shield and instantly thrust his lance, using his fear as a will to survive. His weapon extended to thrice its length and pierced deep into the headless horseman's armour, before emerging from his back. Jarvan then gripped the shaft of his lance with both hands, and twisted.

The lance spun and made a wide slash across the horseman's armour, breaking the steel breastplate completely. The spectral horseman screamed in pain, as the rest of his armour started crumbling bit by bit, turning into dust. The pale green essence beneath the armour lost its foothold upon this world, and the spectre only screamed louder when the air around threatened to tear its uncaged soul to shreds.

The horseman screamed and screamed, the wind suddenly picking up and spinning in a twister about his unbound form. It then collapsed inwards, and imploded, leaving nothing in this world.

The horse was gone as well, leaving only scraps of its armour upon the deck. Jarvan breathed heavily, trying to come to terms with what he had just seen.

Another whinny from afar caught his attention. He turned instantly to the source of the noise, and found who he was looking for.

Shyvana. Yet something was obviously very wrong. She stood still, her hands clenched at her sides beneath those gauntlets she never took off. Her hood had fallen off, revealing her mane of red hair, unruly and wild. She was motionless, save for the tremble of her hands, and he found it odd that she had her gaze fixed in a distance, in the horizon where the Black Mist just took dominance.

He saw a horseman pulling the reins on his horse, the same spectral glow and black binding armor. Except that this one had a head, wearing a sinister, black helmet. The same glaive gleamed with a moonlit edge, its tip pointed straight at the half-dragon's back.

"Shyvana!" he sprinted towards her, preparing his magic for another Golden Aegis. Shyvana then jolted, finally awaken from her trance.

Shyvana instantly saw the charging ghost and raised her arms in alarm, trying desperately to put up a weak defense. The prince unleashed another surge of magical energy, encapsulating the half-dragon in an orb of golden light, forming a temporary shield against the charging horseman.

The spectre crashed into the orb just like his comrade did, yet he did not fall from his horse. Still, his horse teetered as it tried to regain itself, and the horseman pulled on its reins desperately to make it comply.

That was all Jarvan needed to pierce his lance through the horseman's armor. Again it broke through the breastplate, before extending and piercing right through his back. The horseman roared, swinging his glaive in a frenzy while snapping the reins about. The horse screamed, rearing on its hind legs and nearly throwing off its master.

Knowing that he would be dragged around if his lance remained buried in the horseman's chest, he slashed sideways, pulling his weapon out of the specter's chest and watched as the breastplate broke into bits and pieces. He witnessed the death of the horseman again, as the rest of his armour disintegrated to ashes, revealing the swirling mass of green energy beneath, before it grew violent and collapsed inwards.

The Golden Aegis fell, and the half-dragon still stared in shock, her hands still raised as a feeble attempt to protect herself.

Furious, he slammed the pommel of his lance upon the deck and stormed towards the half-dragon. Her eyes were wide with surprise, obviously not expecting his sudden burst of anger.

"What were you thinking?" he yelled. "You could have been killed if I wasn't here any sooner!"

She blinked twice, before her face contorted with fury. "I don't need your concern,"

"Of course you don't, you were nearly impaled by a ghost,"

"You didn't have to care!"

"If I didn't, you would have been dead, you ingrate!"

"I could have dodged it. I was _waking_," she spat furiously, her demeanour not even shifting when the prince glared down at her. Upon hearing that, his face switched from anger to worry, before settling on confusion.

"Waking?" he asked. "Waking from what?"

She paused. "N-nothing," she answered timidly. Her eyes drew away from his a little too quickly, and he knew that she was afraid. She turned away from him, so that he couldn't see her face. But he noticed how her shoulders stiffened, and her hands trembling slightly.

Jarvan watched her with a frown. "Something happened. You're scared,"

"I'm not," she snapped.

A pirate fired a few gunshots at a reanimated, rotting corpse, which collapsed with a hiss. "Then what is it?"

"Why do you care?" Blades crashed, then the sound of gushing blood. A pirate howled in pain.

"Shyvana, please. Have I not proven myself enough?" the prince pleaded, clearly zoning out the ongoing chaos around them.

The half-dragon looked at him with a stoic face, her expressions unreadable. It was a long pause before she said, "Everywhere I go, death follows. There has to be one more,"

Jarvan raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"One of them brought a message to me," she hesitated. "He said that my fate is weaved in suffering. And one more will die, if this journey goes on,"

"I don't understand,"

"One of us will die," she snapped. "It's a foreshadowing. There are chances that you or your men might be killed. I don't know when or how, but my vengeance will cost one of you your life,"

Jarvan shook his head. "You'd rather believe the words of a ghost?"

"Spirits don't lie," she argued. "And I don't need any of you risking your lives for someone you don't even know. You and your men, you don't belong here. You have a home, Jarvan. A family. After we get out of here, go back to Demacia,"

The prince stared at her with astonishment clear on his face. He shook his head. "I made you a promise,"

"Promises are made to be broken," she whispered, her tone filled with sadness. She diverted her gaze from his, but she did not turn away.

At that moment, he saw not a fierce, formidable warrior, but a woman who had been alone for far too long and betrayed so many times, she simply couldn't find joy in anything anymore. His anger for her ebbed away, replaced by the need to comfort her. But what if she pushed him away?

"No," his voice softened. "Not this time. You don't deserve this kind of torment," He reached out with one hand, and held her gently by her chin. She did not pull away, nor showed any grimace.

Her golden eyes still shone with fury, but a single tear shed. She clenched her jaw, swallowing her anger and sadness. "What if you die? I owe you too much. I can't forgive myself for that,"

Jarvan chuckled without mirth, his hand moving from her chin to her cheek, his fingers lightly brushing the tear away. Again, she did not resist or shy away from his touch. But her eyes were unyielding. Defiant and firm, yet so beautiful.

"Then send my ashes back to Demacia, with my lance and armour in one piece. Escort my men through the perils of the Great Barrier, so they may get back to their homeland safely. Tell my mother I'm sorry, and my friend Garen. That is how you can repay me,"

Shyvana gave a hoarse laugh, choking on her own tears. "You ask too much, prince,"

"Perhaps," he laughed lightly. "But for now, we fight. And we'll live,"

She nodded. And he noticed how her eyes burnt twice as bright. Somehow, he felt hotter around her, being so close to her.

Her eye twitched for a split second, but he noticed. Without warning, he ducked.

And Shyvana breathed a jet of flame right above his head.

The flames roared and spread to a few undead crawling up on them, burning them to a crisp. Jarvan brandished his lance as he rolled to the side, spinning it above his head with such grace and finesse. A few undead, donning rotting rogue armor and wielding rusted weapons, clambered upon them clumsily, which Jarvan speared rapidly right through their unbeating hearts.

They took down many, yet more took their place. Occasionally a pirate would be dragged into the battle unintentionally, but there were too many of the undead to worry about the welfare of their temporary allies.

Then the shrill cry of a battle roar shook them, among the chaotic war going onboard. Jarvan ignored it at first, but that shrill cry soon grew in numbers, as if an army was chanting their battle cry, ready to launch an onslaught.

He threw an undead off his back, and called out for the half-dragon. She stopped what she was doing, and stared at the prince, asking the same question.

The undead still hissed and advanced upon the pirates, whose bravery and savagery were something to be admired. But out of nowhere, a formation of horsemen stormed through the crowd of undead, their speed terrifying with the hooves thundering loud. Wisps of spectral light followed behind their wake, and around the _Dead Pool_, the Black Mist swirled and groaned, growing twice as strong when the horsemen appeared.

They ran down both the undead and the pirates, the loud, beating hooves surpassing the chaos earlier. People screamed and died. Shyvana and Jarvan stood there stunned, before they quickly got out of the way from the charging legion.

The formation stopped at the end of the deck, then like a disciplined army of soldiers, they turned with such perfect timing, and prepared to charge again.

And that was when Jarvan noticed that these weren't just men on horses. He tugged on Shyvana's cloak roughly, begging her to watch.

She noticed, her mouth slightly agape with horror.

The soldiers of the formation had the body of a man and a horse, fully clad in armour. However, it was as though some evil force fused those beings with their steeds, binding them together for eternity. They all held a glaive, the wicked curve of the steel that could kill with just a touch.

They all looked the same, except for the one in the middle. This one looked a lot larger, his shoulders broader than even Gangplank's and Illaoi's combined. His glaive was long and huge and held a ghostly glow to it. Beneath the helmet, the being grinned, his eyes fixed on the half-dragon and the prince.

"_Karthus,_" the one in the middle spoke, and his voice was similar to the rumble of an earthquake, strong enough to send tremors through the Black Mist. "_You were here_,"

Jarvan noticed how he was staring at Shyvana, and he looked to her. He was even more puzzled when he saw how the half-dragon gritted her teeth in frustration, her fists clenched tightly and shivering in fear.

"Who is he referring to?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she answered. Somehow, he felt that she was telling the truth.

"_This is the Deathsinger's gift!_" the leader of the legion roared, and charged. The rest of his kind followed closely behind as well, their thundering hooves sending clouds of dust and black wisps of mist into the air, clouding their vision.

Jarvan dashed ahead of Shyvana, knowing her panic had dulled her reflexes. The prince twisted his lance and raised it forward, watching as the blades of his lance spun and grow in length. It clashed with the being's glaive, and Jarvan put all his strength into his lance, the being and his legion halted briefly behind the prince's weapon.

His forearms were burning in pain, and he broke out in cold sweat. Yet he held his lance firmly, holding them back.

The spectral glow of the glaive flowed about its blade. Jarvan swore that that thing was alive, as though speaking to him and spiting him for his efforts. He nearly gave in when the being leaned close to him, his soulless eyes staring deep into his.

The glow of the glaive spread slowly along his lance, like a disease.

"_None can resist the might of the Iron Order,_" he growled. "_None can resist Hecarim, the Shadow of War,_"

"Then resist _this_!"

From behind, he saw the half-dragon leaping into the air, her flaming gauntlets held above her in a menacing pose. The being who called himself Hecarim, turned back in surprise, and quickly withdrawn his glaive in a wide, arcing sweep, hissing as Shyvana's gauntlets connected with the glaive.

Flames were conjured, followed by an explosion that engulfed Hecarim and Shyvana. The sudden withdrawal of the glaive threw Jarvan off guard, and he panted in exhaustion as he stood shakily on his feet, his hands almost white around the hilt of his lance.

Among the smoke, Hecarim charged. His speed dispersed the smoke into nothing, and Jarvan could see Shyvana ducking back and forth, using his heavy weight as her own advantage.

"_You fight well, Halfling! Like a thief!_"

He charged in one direction and swept his glaive. Shyvana easily evaded the attack, and the glaive crashed into a pile of crates.

Then Shyvana was running towards the prince. Hecarim roared in frustration and pulled out his glaive angrily, turning to face the half-dragon.

"Jarvan!" Shyvana shouted, drawing his attention. "The magic shield! Use it!"

He wanted to tell her he had little energy left to conjure any more shields, and even if he did, it would be a weak one. But behind her Hecarim charged, this time faster than ever, and his legion of souls that expanded to twenty men abreast.

The prince mustered what little energy he had left, and summoned the Golden Aegis again, just as the half-dragon went past him.

Hecarim did not slow nor stop. He kept speeding forward, and crashed head-on into the shield. The whole ship felt its tremor.

Jarvan grunted and held the Golden Aegis, which was threatening to shatter. Hecarim forced himself into the shield by pressing forward, the spectral energy from his glaive flowing through the prince's shield. It was obvious that Hecarim was taking over.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shyvana in mid-air, her feet on fire as she executed a spinning kick, aiming for the horseman's head.

Hecarim was so into breaking Jarvan's Golden Aegis, he did not see the half-dragon's attack. Her foot collided with his head, knocking him back as the horseman grunted in pain. The spectral energy that was seeping into Jarvan's shield dissipated the moment the glaive was not touching the shield.

At once, Hecarim's formidable legion of ghosts disappeared. Not even a wisp was spared.

He stumbled backwards, his horse hooves clopping clumsily upon the deck. Jarvan dispatched his shield instantly, his head pounding with headache and his muscles burning with fatigue. He was beyond exhausted.

But Shyvana's bloodlust was burning. She encased herself in a capsule of fire, speeding towards the stunned horseman. She launched a fiery punch on his chest, but Hecarim recovered quickly, and caught her fist in one armoured gauntlet.

The prince saw her frantically tried to pull away, but his grip was strong. Hecarim leaned in and stared into her eyes, sending shudders down her spine.

"_You give good sport, Halfling. I'll enjoy gutting you,_"

She only roared, and answered with a punch with another hand.

At that moment, Jarvan saw Illaoi behind Hecarim, but Shyvana was still amidst battle.

With alarming speed, Hecarim dodged the punch, and threw her to the ground. The half-dragon recovered from her fall halfway, skidding a few feet away. The horseman galloped forward and swung his glaive around him in a crescent slash.

And Jarvan acted quickly, rushing to her aid and parrying the blow with his lance. Hecarim's glaive bounced away, but he used the shaft and thrust it towards the prince. Jarvan hopped a few steps backwards, pulling the half-dragon with him.

Illaoi slammed her golden idol upon the deck again, and summoned the visage of her god. Tentacles shot towards Hecarim and wrapped around him, immobilizing him.

The Shadow of War did not howl in rage. Instead, he laughed, and it was a thunderous sound that rumbled across the ship. "_The servant of the Kraken God? A God who needs his apostles to do his bidding? And you want the sons of the Shadow Isles to take you seriously?_"

"Your words don't matter. Only actions do," Illaoi spoke confidently. "And your kind does not belong here. Men, _fire!_"

The click of a mechanism drew the prince's attention. He turned to find three pirates firing a ballista, the metal spear launching in the air towards the spectral horseman with such speed, it went through his armour and out from his back. On the left and right of Illaoi, pirates heaved and threw their spears and fired their harpoons, each one embedding itself in Hecarim's armour, piercing his glowing form.

Soon Hecarim's form was embedded with spears. And Illaoi called back the tentacles, the appendages disappearing from the horseman. The Shadow of War dropped his glaive and fell to his knees, but he refused to keel over.

All on the deck was silent. Pirates lowered their weapons, Shyvana and Jarvan stood aside and watched him closely, Illaoi only rested her Eye of God on her shoulders.

But Hecarim laughed, and laughed, and laughed. His voice sent terror to all their hearts.

"_Does not belong here,_" he gripped the shaft of a metal spear with both armoured hands. Without a sign of pain, he pulled it out effortlessly. "_Of course we do not belong here,_" he reached for another spear, and pulled it out as well. "_That's why the Ruined King bequeathed us the Black Mist – to wreak havoc upon the mundane,_"

They all drew their weapons at once. Even Illaoi looked astonished.

"_Pierced by spears…_" this time, he pulled out another spear angrily as he spat those words. "_This reminds me of someone… Who was it?_" Spear after spear clattered upon the deck. "_Doesn't matter. But I must kill_," the last spear was removed and laid in his hand. He eyed a pirate cruelly.

That pirate pulled out a gun, but it was too late. Hecarim hurled the spear towards him, and it was so fast it speared through his head, his gun never fired.

Picking up his glaive, Hecarim went on a rampage. He summoned his horsemen again, except that this time his legion was no longer tailing him. They all ran in all directions, slaughtering pirates in their wake. A few pirates howled and battled the spectres, even though their chances of survival were mild.

Jarvan went into a frenzy, barely knocking back a charging horseman with his lance. Shyvana was having a hard time defending herself as well.

"Prince!" Illaoi approached him, nonchalantly slamming a horseman away with her idol. "Heed me!"

"Not now, priestess!" Jarvan shouted, deflecting a spinning glaive.

Illaoi ignored him, and grabbed the prince by his shoulder. "Listen to me, you haven't much time. Go with the half-dragon, to the south of here, there's a latch that will lead you to the bottom of the ship, through the captain's cabin. Your men are there, ready with Gangplank's boats," she pushed him away, urging him to go away.

Of course, Jarvan only got more confused and frowned at her.

"Are you touched in the head?" Illaoi chided. "Go, before Gangplank finds you both missing,"

"Why are you helping us?" he can't help but feel suspicious. "Why should we trust you?"

"Like I said, you are meant to go home, to lead. With that half-dragon," she said impatiently, summoning a few tentacles. "You are not needed here, but elsewhere. Go before I bash you in the head and feed you to the sharks,"

Jarvan still looked hesitant.

"And I released your friend, stubborn prince," she hissed. "Do you want to stay here to be killed by Gangplank?"

"If this is a trap, I'll make sure the whole ship sinks with us," Jarvan snapped, and turned away from her, from the mass slaughter by a legion of spectral horsemen. He went to Shyvana, who had just taken down another horseman, ready to escape with her.

* * *

Deep beneath the dark waves, the metal titan struggled to stay afloat. It was difficult swimming in this enormous metal hunk of an armour, what more swimming with one hand, and holding onto a dredge chain in another while being pelted by a shower of spears and harpoons and cannonballs.

_Better me than them_, he thought sadly. _Better me than them_. It echoed like a mantra, turning his emotions into a storm of anger and desperation.

She needed his help. _A harpoon through the tail_, she had told him. She sounded so sad. Her kind had no tears, (neither had he, not anymore) but her eyes were full of desperation and hopelessness. He had not told her, and went forward in her stead. It took him days to chase the ship, recognising it by its large masts and formidable strength.

_A harpoon through the tail, _he thought. Another cannonball blasted his head, igniting an explosion but it only dented his helmet. His red eyes raged. _Sad. She's sad. Better me than them_.

He could not remember his name, but he knew hers. That was all that mattered. And he would do everything he could to take that sadness away from her.

* * *

**Thank you to all who favourite and followed this story. Do leave a review! Thank you!**


	18. Chapter 18: Promise

**Chapter 18: Promise**

When Jarvan closed the latch above them, the sounds of fighting were ceased instantly. Deep beneath the ship, only darkness and silence reigned. Most of the crew were either on deck fighting for their ship, or in the gunship deck arming cannons and machines to ward off assaults.

"Safe, for now," Jarvan sighed. "Hadn't been easy, truly," He ripped away what was left of his tattered cloak, revealing his suit of armour he wore underneath. From his sack, he took out his helmet, with the Demacian jewel missing, and finally donned it. Earlier who was a rough traveller with a hard face was now replaced by a prince of high birth and heir to centuries-long legacy, albeit his shaggy beard and long, wild hair.

A ragged cough caught his attention, and he turned to see Shyvana sitting on the wooden floorboards, her back against barrels. Her head lolled to one side, though she lifted her head slightly to watch him, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Looking like a real prince for once," she chuckled. Her left arm was unmoving, and her right hand clutched her shoulder slightly. She did her best to hide it, but Jarvan noticed it nonetheless. "I almost didn't recognize you, prince,"

His brows knitted in a frown. Leaning his lance against the wall, he approached the half-dragon with his skin of wine in hand. "Are you fine?" he uncorked the waterskin and handed it over to her. She accepted it with her good hand, and chugged greedily.

She gave him back the skin. "Never better," she lied. As her hand moved away from her shoulder, he noticed the dark red spot spreading along her cloak upon her shoulder area. When he looked at her, her lips were pale, and her hands were shivering.

"You're bleeding, and how long has it been?"

"It was nothing," she gasped, and waved away his concern. "I only need a moment. It has been a long night,"

Jarvan cursed. "Every time I try to help, you would push me away. It's not nothing, you might bleed out and die. Why can't you let others help you?"

The half-dragon stared at him intently, her golden eyes shimmering with sadness and curiosity. "And why do you care so much?" he remembered how she had often said that with a voice full of spite and ire. Instead, she sounded exhausted, albeit a little wary. And Jarvan found that very, very odd.

The prince gazed into her eyes, taking a moment to consider his answer. He could not find an appropriate response, though, which he randomly cleared his throat, and quickly answered, "Because you're a companion. You've saved my life once. I can't let my companions die under my watch,"

"Even if I bring ill-luck to those around me?"

Jarvan scoffed. "You can't be taking Markus' words seriously,"

The half-dragon only sighed. "Not him," she simply said. "Earlier on, you were asking about what I was _waking _from,"

The prince remained silent, watching her carefully. The dark red spot upon her shoulder spread further, and the prince wasted no time upending the contents of his sack, searching for his medical supplies. He gestured to the wound, thinking it would be polite to ask for her permission first. Shyvana only nodded lightly, sweat beading her forehead.

"Something came suddenly. Something from the mist," she said. Jarvan listened while he pulled down one side of her cloak, and gingerly tore a bit of her tunic away. The ragged tunic was drenched with dark blood. "It was… indescribable. He was both godly and devilish, evil yet divine. Just one look at him was enough to make you cower in fear. He put me into a trance-like state without me knowing,"

Jarvan nodded. He winced at the sight of her wound – a horrendous tear caused by a sword, obviously, and the skin around it was purposely scorched to staunch the bleeding. He studied the wound. "Did you seal this yourself?"

"Yes," she said, her voice full of fatigue. "It must have opened when that horseman threw me like a ragdoll,"

He nodded, taking the skin of wine which she drank from earlier. "This will hurt," he said apologetically, and without hesitation he poured a little wine onto her wound. He heard her sharp intake of breath and sensed how her shoulders tensed, but other than that she did not scream or protest. Jarvan nodded. "I don't mean to interrupt, do continue,"

"He was obviously Death himself," she said fearfully. "At first glance, I knew, with one swipe of his hand, he could end all lives on this ship. But he did not. He preferred to see how we die. And then he told me,"

Jarvan rolled a bandage over her shoulder, wounding it tightly to temporarily slow the bleeding. He grimaced, suddenly remembering what she had told him earlier. "That one of us will die, if this journey goes on?" he smiled sadly at her, which she did not return.

"Everywhere I go, death follows," she said what Zahrul had told her, and what the river demon and the wraith had told her.

After tying the knot, he helped her pull up her cloak again, concealing her bare skin. Then, he studied her face – blue-grey skin with fiery golden eyes, so feisty yet beneath the surface was a woman hurt too many times. Their noses almost touched, their eyes locked on each other with an intense stare, and being so close to her gave him a giddy feeling.

He wanted to kiss her again.

Instead, he shook his head. "It might not even be true, Shyvana. Our fate is in our hands. We can shape it, together,"

"No, we can't. We are just the playthings of the gods. We don't get to choose our fates," she shook her head, refusing to believe him. "I loved my mother very much, and yet she betrayed my love for her and chased me out of her house. I trusted a human once, yet he lied to me, betrayed my trust, and wanted to have my head. My fate is simply laughable, Jarvan. I have faith in you, but who knows when you or your men will betray me, like the others did?"

He shook his head vehemently. "I'm not like the others. I won't lie to you,"

"Let's say you won't," her words were scornful. "What if you die?"

He had no answer for that.

"You have a home, Jarvan. I don't. You have people who love you, I don't. You have an identity, yet I'm nothing. That's the difference between us. If you die, you lose them all. I have nothing left to lose,"

Jarvan looked down. "I'm no longer a prince, it has been years since I was home. My mother probably thought me dead, and moved on,"

"That's what you think," she rummaged her sack, and when she took something out, his eyes widened with disbelief. "But your men still think of you as their prince,"

In her hand, was the Demacian jewel that was once encrusted in his helmet, his only proof that he was a prince by birth, and not a lowly wanderer. He looked at her incredulously, wondering how the jewel that was in Markus' possession could end up in the half-dragon's hand.

"Looted from his corpse," she answered him. She pressed the jewel into his hand. Her eyes glowed with a kind warmth, and Jarvan was surprised when her lips curled slightly into a brief smile. "I have light fingers. You learn to steal when you're really desperate,"

He returned her smile, both of them saying nothing. She sighed, pressing the jewel in his palm and curled his fingers around it.

"You're a kind man, Jarvan. A lot more people could do with a little act of kindness. Would be a shame if you perished helping a vengeful half-beast,"

"You don't trust me," he said, his tone suggesting he was clearly disappointed.

"I do," she said, and somehow he could tell that she was telling him the truth. Still, he stared at her with a serious gaze, imploring her to convince him that she truly trusted him.

She continued. "I just don't want you to help the wrong person. All I would ever bring is death. As much as I appreciated your kind acts for me, I just don't deserve it. Your men have made that very clear,"

The prince growled in frustration.

"I don't care what they think of you. My opinions of you will never change," his hand reached out and held the nape of her neck, and he quickly leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He expected resistance from the half-dragon, that she would push him away or even slap him in the face.

But she did neither. Instead, she kissed back. Her lips were so warm and full, and they tasted like smoke and burning wood. It made the kiss feel dangerous but passionate, so he just kept their lips locked, the half-dragon just as needy as him with her hand reaching for his neck and pressing hard against him. Jarvan thought his body was on fire.

She returned his feelings. That was all he could ask for.

When he finally released her, Shyvana gasped for air. Her face was flushed, whether from the heat or the kiss, Jarvan would never know. His hand lingered upon her skin, gently brushing his fingers against the tiny scales on her neck. Her chest heaved as she panted, her swollen lips slightly apart, and those eyes that stared into his very soul were so full of passionate intensity, that Jarvan just wanted to kiss her again.

A low rumble that reverberated through the ship reminded them that they hadn't escaped their ordeal. The prince only smiled, and instead reached out to peck her on her forehead.

"For how long has it been?" she asked. Her eyes were no longer angry or full of vengeance. And her stare was so hot.

"I don't know," the prince shook his head. "Maybe when you fought Pantheon. Or maybe when we fought together in the desert. I just never admitted that feeling. Feels foreign to me,"

She said nothing. Jarvan looked at the gleaming Demacian sapphire in his hand, and without a second thought he pressed it into her palm, curling her fingers around its smooth, well-polished edges. Shyvana looked up at him questioningly.

"As a token of my trust," he explained. "You know how important this is to me. So help me keep it. I want you to know that I will never betray you, that I will always watch your back, that I trust you with my life, just as you trust me,"

She remained silent. Her lips were a thin line, and her face conveyed no emotions.

"So stay alive, Shyvana. And guard it well. I'll want it back after all this mess. No one can keep it better than you do. It's a promise," he smiled. For a second, he thought she was going to refuse. His heart leapt a little when she looked down and chuckled lightly, her armoured hand gripping the jewel tightly.

"I can't guarantee it," she answered him with a lopsided grin, her golden eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "But I promise you, I'll keep it safe, for your sake,"

* * *

As they weaved through the narrow corridor piled with crates and barrels, Shyvana couldn't help but think of the kiss earlier, and what the prince had said to her. Inside her, her feelings were all jumbled. But strangely, she felt no anger, hatred or despair. Only hope.

_A dragon does not need to love_, in her mind, she wondered. _Or have I, after all, grown weak in the presence of human company? Perhaps I truly feel something for him, or perhaps long years of solitude had made me yearn for companionship even more. _

She scoffed silently. _Even father had fallen for a human girl, not to mention I am only half a dragon. Is this what having someone to trust feel like? How could I ever understand something so fickle, which humans call 'love'? Father, if only you were still around, perhaps you could make me understand._

And again, she thought of how if her father had not perished, the prince and his company would have never stumbled upon her. Such a cruel twist of fate, and she could not tell if it was a boon or a bane. Her hand tightened around the smooth, polished jewel which Jarvan entrusted her with, and somehow she knew she could not break her promise to him.

"There's a door here, should lead to Gangplank's cabin," Jarvan spoke, his voice bringing her out of her thoughts. Ahead of them, was a narrow door that only one person could pass, provided that he was going through sideways. Jarvan snuck through the pile of crates and barrels, struggling as his hand tried to reach the door knob. At first the door refused to budge, until a few twists finally opened the door.

Jarvan entered, with Shyvana following behind. Inside, all was dark, and they could see nothing.

"Shyvana? If you may?" within the darkness she could not see the prince. And so she only nodded, and lifted her palm. A small mote of flame came to life in her hand, illuminating a small radius around them both. With a clearer vision, they took in the surroundings of the captain's cabin.

Not only was it huge, the chamber was loaded with trove and trinkets from all parts of Valoran. Shyvana could not help but marvel at the sight. At the corner she spotted an enormous bronze drinking horn decorated with coloured jewels, and at first she thought it was a mammoth's tusk. The floor was carpeted with a sea serpent's hide, with its gnarled jaw sneering sinisterly at them both. Here and there they would spot wooden chests or metal chests, or some odd-looking box which only Gangplank knew its contents. And to the far left, at the edge of the chamber, was a desk with several candles already burnt to the bottom. When they approached the desk, they spotted a few maps, all weighted down with paper weights. And beside the desk, was a featherbed with a worn wooden bedframe.

"This man is a beast," Jarvan admired the walls adorned with different sea creatures' heads, and some torn or ragged flags of several rival ships made into tapestries. "Look at all this treasure. No wonder he was called the pirate king,"

"Perhaps we should look for the exit, Jarvan," Shyvana chided impatiently, waiting for him with her mote of flame every time he lagged behind to look at the different objects in the chamber. Jarvan turned to her abruptly, nodded apologetically and hurried up.

"All this wealth, and he still raids and plunders," Shyvana muttered under her breath, her voice full of venom and disgust.

Jarvan seemed unfazed by her anger, and continued touching robbed artworks and severed heads of sea creatures that hung as trophies from the walls, admiring them. "I'm pretty sure at this point he's raiding for sport now. When you're king, you would do everything you can to influence your people, so that you remain at the peak of the social classes,"

Shyvana stopped and turned to the prince abruptly, arching an eyebrow at him. "And that's how your dynasty prevailed?"

Jarvan could sense the contempt in her voice, as he immediately stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "Demacia's throne was passed from generations to generations of Lightshields, and her people are ever loyal," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "There is no need for pillage or plunder to prove our claim to the crown,"

"Why the war with Noxus then?"

And again, he was caught off guard by the half-dragon, unable to answer her question. Refusing to lose, he came up with the best answer he could think of. "There has been centuries of bad blood between the monarchy of Demacia and the High Command of Noxus. My country values loyalty, while Noxus regards strength as the utmost importance in all aspects. We don't… see eye to eye,"

"So that's it? You wage war on each other just because you don't agree with the other nation's differences?" her tone was mocking, but Jarvan could not help but find truth in her remark.

"Well," Jarvan stuttered. "There's more, of course. What would you understand of politics anyway? You've never ruled a country before,"

Shyvana shrugged. The small ball of fire danced around in her palm, casting shadows across her face, and Jarvan could barely study her reaction. "Perhaps you're right. I'm no politician. But I do know that both sides of war will always think they are fighting for good intentions," With that, she turned her back to the prince, and continued waving her flame around the room, searching for the exit.

Jarvan just stared at her dumbly. The half-dragon had bested him, once again.

He was about to follow her, before the corner of his vision caught on something glimmering, like light being reflected by a mirror.

"Shyvana," he called out softly, which the half-dragon heard and quickly turned around. He gestured to her to follow him, and so she did, her palm out to light his way around the chamber.

Again, a ray of reflected light glimmered as Shyvana randomly waved her mote of flame about. Jarvan carefully strode towards the source, whereas the half-dragon followed him blindly.

"Jarvan, what is it?"

"Something gleaming every time your fire shines at it. Perhaps a mirror of some sort, or a large glass,"

Shyvana's eyes narrowed. "What's your point?"

"Just curious. Never know what you may find. Maybe a magic mirror,"

She could almost hear the mirth in his voice, and she scoffed. "Jarvan, don't be ridiculous,"

He turned back to her, with an impish grin. "What? We're in the belly of a pirate's boat, filled with treasures and oddities from all of Valoran that most may have never heard before. Who knows what artefact you may find here? Being curious isn't a crime,"

Shyvana's eyebrows knitted. _Maybe, but it might get you killed, _she thought, but she said nothing.

Jarvan's hands reached out and bumped against something hard, probably glass. He knocked lightly, and then the sound of water sloshing. Shyvana's flame was only bright enough to show that it was a large glass tank of some sort, sealed and filled with water.

"Aquarium?" Shyvana asked.

"Glass is tinted. It's dark. Could you brighten up a bit?"

Shyvana obliged, and conjured up an even brighter flame. This time they could see clearly, and indeed it was a large tank sloshing with water.

But what was inside shocked them.

"What in the name of…" Jarvan's voice trailed away as he leaned closer and peered through the top of the glass tank. Their mouths were opened in pure astonishment, both marvelled and horrified by the sight before them.

Inside the tank was a creature, lying unmoving and submerged at the bottom of the tank. The creature had the head and torso of a human girl, but waist down was the body of a fish, gleaming with beautiful scales that shifted from green to azure to turquoise every time Shyvana's flame flickered. The skin above waist was light green, with fins that swirled about the water around her elbows. A green and cyan coat of hide and scales was wrapped over her chest and stomach, concealing her breasts, but the creature's eyes were closed and her lips were pale, as though in a deep, serene sleep. The creature had a pretty face – innocent, sweet and alluring, like that of a young maiden that could steal all hearts of men.

"This…" Jarvan was at a loss of words.

Shyvana's eyes were wide as saucers. "Father once told me there was a kind who lived deep beneath the ocean, with faces and bodies of a woman but had fish tails instead of legs. Their songs could make sailors weep, and their magic gives the sea healing properties,"

"Marai," Jarvan said in wonder. "I thought they were only a legend,"

"So do I, yet one appears before us," Shyvana said. "And Gangplank possesses one of their kind. Pirate king indeed,"

"Why is she not moving?" Jarvan muttered, his voice still full of wonder and awe. Shyvana understood and brought her flame closer, both of them peering into the tank. The fire brightened the glass tank, and they could see the Marai much clearer now. But what they saw made them rear back in horror and disgust.

The sloshing water which the creature was submerged in was tainted with traces of red. Now they could see the whole tail, a coat with lovely gleaming scales that shifted into a hundred metallic hues under the light of Shyvana's fire, and ended with a pale, translucent tail. But if they looked closer, they could see one patch of skin near the tail which was dark red in colour, and the arrow tip of a metal harpoon that pierced right through her flesh completely.

"Is she dead?" the half-dragon inquired, which Jarvan had no answer for.

As though hearing her, the creature opened her eyes and stared at them both. She remained still, her black and amber eyes that were full of despair, pain and hopelessness staring back at them. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out.

"She's dying," Jarvan realized, and his voice was full of pity. He went closer to the Marai, looking her in the eyes, and he tapped the glass tank lightly.

"Yes," Shyvana agreed dully, her tone was flat and devoid of any emotions. She crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes fixed on the Marai with an impaled tail.

Above them, the screams of the slaughtered amplified and the ship swayed more violently. The books lined on a shelf behind them began to topple with a loud thud, startling them both. They remained silent for a moment, listening as the distant thunderclap of horse hooves upon the deck echoed through the captain's cabin. The moans and cries of the ghosts continued.

"We have to go, quickly," Jarvan implored, his voice a little anxious and afraid. "August and the others are waiting for us. It's only a matter of time before Gangplank notices us missing,"

Shyvana turned towards him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What about her? She needs our help,"

"There's nothing we can do, Shyvana. Look at the blood, she's _dying,_" Jarvan shook his head incredulously. "You and I know nothing about the Marai, and how are we supposed to help her? Lift the tank and throw her out into the sea? Have you seen how heavy this glass tank is?"

The half-dragon's face contorted with fury. She held her chin high and her arms crossed at her chest, glaring at the prince. "You're telling me, a noble, _kind _prince like you do not wish to help a wounded creature because a fucking heavy glass tank is in the way? You seemed pretty adamant to help me when I was dying back there. Don't be such a hypocrite,"

Jarvan's eyes widened upon such accusation, his mouth wide as his brows furrowed in an angry frown. "Don't exaggerate, Shyvana. You weren't dying, just bleeding heavily. Under normal circumstances, where we were not threatened by undead or sea savages, I would have sat down and thought of any ways possible to help her. But we do not have the time for that,"

The fury in Shyvana's eyes only burnt even stronger, and if she could, her eyes would have burnt a hole through Jarvan's forehead. Her gauntlets were trembling with silent anger, her lips pulled taut in protest. "If it was a human in there, would you have done anything to help her?"

Jarvan snickered. "This is not the time to discuss discrimination or whatever you think it is. Be reasonable, Shyvana. We know nothing about this creature, people who what to kill us are almost at our heels, and if we help her we might end up in a bigger mess. None of us gets saved then. I'm not risking your life, or the lives of my men just to save a creature whom I've never met. And she belongs to Gangplank, best if it remains that way,"

"Do you know how cold you sound, _prince_?" Shyvana mocked. "Or perhaps I was right after all – you humans are cruel and selfish, you only care about your own kind,"

"Cold?" his voice rose in volume, anger seized his mind as he bellowed furiously. "I am desperately trying to save our fucking asses. Being indifferent to her predicament to save us from ours, it is the lesser of the two evils. You call me _cold_?! Why are you so eager to help anyway? Maybe you have a death wish, do you? Hell, you've been wanting it since I met you. Perhaps I should just leave you here if that's what you wish,"

That only stoked her fury even further. The half-dragon bared her fangs.

"Fuck off then!" she roared, swiping her gauntlet in a wide arc. Jarvan stepped backwards quickly, noticing how her swipe was a lot slower than usual, or he would have never dodged it. Sparks and flames were thrown from her gauntlets, and the chamber suddenly felt a lot hotter than it should be.

The prince glared at her, saying nothing but his eyes still bright with anger and hurt, hurt by her accusation and ungratefulness. He watched the fleeting emotions upon the half-dragon's face, shifting from anger to hatred to despair. Disappointment was clear on her face, and he wished to comfort her, but the stubborn prince insisted that he was right.

It would be inhuman to ignore a dying creature in need, no matter its race. But the prince had men under his care as well, and he could not risk their lives or simply abandon them, for the sake of a life he had never known before.

The silence between the prince and the half-dragon was overwhelming. The heat in the chamber only got twice as intense. Shyvana's gauntlets were glowing, evidence that fire was already dancing in her palms. Their gazes locked, and did not falter.

"You disgust me, Jarvan," she spoke finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was harsh, yet full of hurt. "I thought you different from others. But you were just like them, fucking liars,"

"Shyvana, please," he pleaded.

"You told me that everyone deserves kindness," her piercing golden eyes met his blue ones. "You helped me because you said no one deserves this kind of torture, you promised me you will show that not all humans are the same as the ones I've met,"

The prince did not answer, nor look down in shame. They stared at each other, daring the other to make a move. Shyvana expected him to walk out of the chamber without her, knowing how her words had cut deeper that swords. She saw how it had hit him hard, that he was obviously hurt by her accusations, but she did not care. She remembered how the prince's words had inspired her to believe in his race once more, yet what he did now contradicted with whatever he said before.

_Are you helping me just because you want me? Not out of kindness?_ She wanted to ask him, but was afraid with the answer she might get. Instead, she banished the thought from her mind.

Prince Jarvan stared at her. For years in his life, he had made plenty of mistakes. He had flaws, yes, and he had been ashamed of them. But he had never been called _cold_ in his life, never. And he thought he always cared for the lives of his subordinates, and he never forgot the names and faces of his fallen men, whose deaths were mainly caused by him.

Truth be told, he had never come across another species who had needed his help. All his years in the Great Barrier he had spent hunting down creatures, sentient or not. He had never bothered to help them – he once came across a wounded wyvern screeching pitifully on a cliff, her hatchlings latched closely to her and crying for help. The wyvern was littered with arrows, and judging by the blood and gore upon the scene with two burnt corpses, some idiotic hunters were probably trying their luck on the wyvern.

He heard and he saw. But he remained indifferent. He simply rode away, not even bothering to kill the creature, because she wasn't in his way. He did not help, because he thought it was none of his business.

Now he thought about the wyvern who had possibly succumbed to her injuries. Then he thought of the wailing hatchlings. _Oh gods._ And he felt a pang of guilt.

But that was before he met Shyvana. He thought of what he had told her, what he had told August about being in her good graces just so he could recruit her in the Demacian military. He thought of what he told her earlier, and he swore that his feelings were genuine. Now he felt guilt gnawing at him, cursing himself for being dishonest, despite how she had always been truthful with him.

"Damn," he cursed, and finally tore away from her gaze. Gripping his lance, he went past the half-dragon towards the glass tank, leaving her dazed and confused. The prince placed both his hands upon the lid of the tank, attempting to lift them with his bare hands but to no avail. Using his lance as a lever, he wedged the tip of the weapon into a small crevice between the lid and the tank.

Shyvana watched him silently, her fury from earlier already dissipated. The prince looked back at her and narrowed his eyes. "Well, what are you looking at?" he motioned at the half-dragon. "Help me get this open,"

The half-dragon felt a small smile tug at her lips, which she struggled to feign a straight face. She hurried to the prince, and as he held down his lance the lid was slightly lifted. Shyvana quickly placed both her gauntlets beneath the lid, keeping it opened.

The creature inside the tank was paler than before. Her eyes were half-lidded as she watched them remove the lid. Jarvan and Shyvana both heaved and hefted the heavy glass lid from the tank, moving it away until they could reach the Marai.

"What do you have in mind?" Shyvana panted, her face red from the exertion.

"I don't know…" the prince shook his head, his gaze fixed on the harpoon. To Shyvana's horror, Jarvan dipped his finger into the water tainted with blood, then placed it on the tip of his tongue, tasting it. His eyes widened. "This… It has no taste,"

Shyvana's eye brows knitted in confusion, trying to understand his point. When realization dawned upon her, she shared the prince's astonishment. "It's not sea water?" she concluded, and the prince nodded in agreement.

"Fresh water, I suppose. From mainland, but not the sea. Gangplank couldn't have gone all the way to bring fresh water from the mainland to the middle of the ocean for nothing. He came prepared, with the notion to hunt a sea creature…"

"Or a Marai," Shyvana finished.

"Fresh water," Jarvan whispered to himself. "She's not in her natural habitat. Help me remove the harpoon, I'll try to plug the wound,"

"With what?"

"Hush now, I'm thinking," he rummaged through his sack for anything that would help with the situation. Suddenly, they were plunged into utter darkness, and he was about to shout for Shyvana until a hand clamped his mouth shut.

"Don't move," Shyvana whispered in his ear, and Jarvan stopped struggling. Her eyes blazed for a moment, to which the prince shuddered in fear. They remained still in the dark, close to each other within the thick silence, until it was broken by echoing footsteps.

"… losing… Cap'n… blastin' him to smithereens. Ain't workin', then the fuckin' ghosts came and fucked everythin' up," someone lighted a candle upon the scones on the walls near the door, lighting a small radius. Shyvana's draconian senses flared, and she could see two pirates, buff and menacing, swaggering into the chamber, their jerkins and coats streaked with blood.

"Don't matter," the other pirate growled. "The Marai will take care of it. The Lady calls and we deliver. She'll protect the _Dead Pool_ from the Mist,"

The former pirate spat. "Protect my arse. I ain't believin' shit about that priestess' ramblings. What will the fish do anyway? She's half-dead, Cap'n placed her in fresh water to stop her healin', she's got to be dead,"

Jarvan arched an eyebrow. Shyvana remained still, and listened.

The pirates were almost close to them. "Half-dead better than dead. We oughta find out. Could save our fuckin' hides. I lost enough mates tonight. If the rest of her folks want her back, they'll make 'emselves food to the Mist. Sacrifices for our escape route. The priestess' preachin' annoy me, but she ain't wrong either –"

Shyvana leapt towards one of the pirates, her eyes ablaze which the pirates could only stare in shock. She swiftly grabbed hold of his head in both hands, and twisted mercilessly. Before the other pirate could yell, Jarvan swung his lance, slashing his throat wide open.

Two dead men laid in Gangplank's chamber. A pool of blood spread upon the wooden floorboards, seeping through the gaps between the boards. The well-treated sea serpent's hide was soon stained with blood, making the monster seem twice as fearsome even after death.

The chamber door which the two pirates came through remained open. Shyvana quickly put out the lighted candle upon the scone, engulfing them in darkness once again.

"Sea water," Jarvan spoke quickly, heading over to the glass tank and peered at the wounded Marai. "You heard what they say? They put her in fresh water to stall her healing abilities. We need to release her into the sea,"

"I don't know," Shyvana shook her head, conjuring a ball of fire in her palm again. "How do we carry her? We can't lift the glass tank,"

Jarvan thought for a long while, before approaching the wall behind the glass tank. He pressed his ear against the smooth wooden wall, knocking lightly upon it. He went to several spots and did the same, until he stopped at a particular spot.

"There's a way," Jarvan sighed. "But I don't think you'll like it,"

* * *

Above deck, Gangplank was panting tirelessly. One hand held a flaming curved sword coated with black blood and ashes, while the other held a loaded gun. The cannons still fired, while some lackeys would run back and forth, assessing the damage inflicted and received, telling him how much longer the ship could hold on.

His right forearm was simply bandaged – a red spot slowly spreading upon the yellowed, ragged cloth. An undead had crept on him and tried to land a killing blow, right before he slashed the defiled creature into two with his sword. Still, the undead had managed to nick his arm with his rusted sword, which Gangplank quickly applied potions that almost numbed his arm to prevent it from becoming gangrenous.

He was in a tight situation. The metal titan was fast approaching, and his men were almost outnumbered by the undead. He had sent two of his trusted men, telling them to 'feed the Mist'. They obliged without hesitation, knowing their fate would be grim no matter what.

Another group of undead rounded him. With a roar, Gangplank fired two in their heads, blasting brain matter everywhere as the barrel of his gun began to smoke. He slammed his shoulder into a creature's upheld shield, shattering the rotten wooden shield into pieces, before countering with an upward slash. The creature went up in flames, screaming until it collapsed on the deck.

Another rumble shook the ship. The titan's anchor must have caught hold onto the ship's hull again, as the ship started listing violently. The bulwark was heavily damaged, and could resist the titan's attacks no more.

Gangplank rushed to the railing and squinted his eyes. Up until now he saw only the titan's shadow, but now the giant metal hunk was close enough to reveal his eyes – two glowing red pits beneath a rusted metal helmet. The waves rolled and dashed against the ship's stern as the titan moved closer, and each time the waves receded from him Gangplank could clearly see that he was not wearing any armour or suits for the purpose of protection. It was obviously a man in a diving suit which had not been used for almost a century, when in the olden days divers had worn gigantic metal suits thrice their sizes to traverse waters that were hundreds of fathoms deep.

"Bloody hell," Gangplank cursed.

Each time the titan moved, his rusted metal suit would groan and creak. His movements were very slow, but Gangplank could only imagine the impact he could inflict upon them.

The titan gave a sharp tug on the anchor's chain.

The anchor held fast, and the ship swerved to one side violently. Everyone aboard the ship staggered and stumbled. The Jagged Hooks quickly grabbed purchase of anything nearby, while the skeletons and the undead stumbled clumsily, dropping weapons and crashing into each other.

Waves upon waves crashed onto the deck, spraying bouts of sea water onto the pirates who were still battling the Mist. The titan's grip was firm and strong, and with another tug, the ship dragged a little towards his direction, sending another wave crashing against the stern of the ship. Gangplank gritted his teeth.

"Change course, for fuck's sake!" he bellowed at the helmsman, his arms flailing wildly at him. The helmsman was an old member of the Hooks who had served for two full decades as one of Gangplank's crew, and he knew what awaited those who stoked the ire of the pirate king. The poor sod shuddered at the sight of his enraged captain waving his gun about, and did not need to be told twice to spin the wheel in three full rounds, indifferent to the carnage around him. Because there was no sight – not even the Mist or the giant metal hulk wanting to tear them apart – that was more terrifying than a furious Gangplank waving his gun around like a madman.

The _Dead Pool _swerved in an opposite direction, opposing the titan's pull and holding the ship in place. Gangplank knew that it wouldn't work for long, and he had to think of a solution quickly.

"Cap'n," a gruff voice called out, and Gangplank recognized it immediately. Baskharan, one of his most trusted men who had led multiple skirmishes on smaller trading ships and always returned without a single man lost. Gangplank trusted him so well, that he had offered a larger share of loot compared to the other pirates. With a grunt, Gangplank glared at him, silently commanding him to speak. Had it been any other pirate, he would have snarled and roared at him, especially when he was in no mood for more bad news.

Baskharan was a tall and lean Bilgewatian, hailing from the outskirts of the Serpent Isles who had stolen and robbed and killed his way into a dock gang. One of the leaders of the Jagged Hooks, his dark olive skin criss-crossed with fading scars was the clear sign of his resilience and experience, and how good he was at surviving. He was merciless – he had butchered a merchant's son right before his father's eyes before cutting his throat as well – and that was what Gangplank needed, ruthlessness.

"Runnin' low on cannonballs. The harpoons and ballistae too. Mist is too strong, and soon no men would man the machines," he reported, his eyes were calm and cold, indifferent to the chaos around him.

"Don't tell me what I already know," Gangplank snapped.

Baskharan said nothing, his lips still pursed in a taut line.

"Prepare Death's Daughter," Gangplank ordered. "Load the reavers,"

Baskharan paused for a while, and if he was surprised or frightened, Gangplank saw no sign of it. "All three, Cap'n?"

"All three,"

The loyal pirate did not ask another question, and left immediately, heading to the gunship deck to carry out his orders.

_Reavers_, Gangplank's eyebrows furrowed. He remembered how he had come to obtain four black jars that caught his curiosity when he was at an illegal weapon shop in the black market, trying to get his hands on new weaponry that could paint devastation upon the seas of Valoran. Four black jars no larger than his palm, yet the lid was sealed with a magic barrier that one could not pry open with sheer force alone. When Gangplank touched the surface of the jar, a deep hum throbbed within, spreading from his fingertips to his palm then to his arm, numbing him completely. He remembered jerking back his hand immediately, wary of whatever that was hidden within those jars.

_Caught your fancy, Gangplank?_ the dealer's voice echoed with fascination. _Latest work from Zaun. Aye, nothin' more fearsome than these little fuckers. Just one pinhole through this lid, just one small pinch of these lil' monsters will fuck up an army. Ain't got no mercy. They eat through flesh and bones, some even burn through metal. After they had 'nough, they die out. They call 'em reavers. Aye. Ain't easy smugglin' this from Zaun. _

_Do I look like a fuckin' wizard to you?_ Gangplank had asked him. _How am I supposed to unseal it?_

The dealer grinned. _Just a simple rune, mate,_ he demonstrated by sliding his finger across the lid, drawing a quick yet simple gesture. A rune appeared, blazing with light and heat in strokes which he had drawn across the sealed jar. Then the barrier disappeared, and the rattle of the jar grew more vigorous.

The dealer quickly drew another rune. The jar went silent.

_How much? _Gangplank inquired. The dealer grinned and told him the price.

Gangplank's gaze darkened.

_You will lower the price, _Gangplank growled. The dealer noted the threatening tone in his voice, but he was too stupid to care. After all the reavers were hard to come by, and he had thought it was a rather reasonable price.

The dealer disagreed, his voice almost raised twice as high. Gangplank's mood only darkened even more.

_It's not easy smugglin' this from Zaun!_ The dealer yelled. _If you ain't willin' to pay, I'll just find myself another buyer then!_

He even tried to shoo Gangplank out of his shop. The captain only snapped his fingers, and Baskharan came out of nowhere, grabbing hold of the dealer and slamming his face down on the table top. The loud thud shook the jars, almost toppling them.

_I'll have all four, _Gangplank stated. _Perhaps I shall even need a demonstration. _

The dealer shuddered, struggling to call for help. Baskharan unsheathed his scimitar, and slashed both the dealer's calves so that he could not run. The dealer screamed in agony, falling to his knees.

Gangplank took a jar, and drew the rune on the lid.

The dealer's eyes widened, and he started begging for mercy. But Gangplank's face was a mask of stone, betraying no anger or hatred or satisfaction in seeing him suffer. Baskharan forced the dealer's mouth wide open.

_I'll see if it's worth it_. Gangplank twisted the lid a little, and forced the jar into the dealer's mouth.

He must admit, he was very satisfied with the result.

Then there were three jars left, and Gangplank thought he had nothing to lose.

Below the gunship deck, his deadliest cannon groaned, a sign of being loaded. The reavers would be filled into an empty shell, and when fired across, the shell would explode, dispersing all its contents upon the target. Gangplank readied his flaming sword, and Baskharan shouted a command, a signal that the Death's Daughter was ready to fire.

The titan came closer, and Gangplank could see his eyes, like two glowing red pits. The diving suit was reddish brown with rust, and even littered with sea moss and barnacles.

He lifted his sword aloft and bellowed, "_Fire!_"

Three loud blasts, followed by silence. He watched as the shells arced through the air, falling towards the metal giant.

The shells exploded the moment they came into contact with the titan. One shell hit the chain of the anchor, another two more landed on his rusty helmet. The explosion was followed by a loud buzzing noise, a cloud of void-like darkness engulfing the titan instantly.

Gangplank had no time to lose. "_Full sails! Away from here!_" he barked. The helmsman heard, and did as he commanded.

The reavers were as formidable and deadly as expected. The ones that hit their mark on the chain of the dredge ate through the metal, corroded the links like acid through wood. Soon the links of the chain snapped, leaving the anchor still embedded in the _Dead Pool_'s hull but at the same time severing the titan's hold on the ship. With the winds in their favour, the _Dead Pool _sailed away, putting distance between the titan and the ship.

The titan was covered by the reavers entirely, and he struggled to keep himself afloat. Soon only his helmet could be seen bobbing above the surface. Gangplank could not see what happened to him nor did he care. The last thing he heard from the titan was a loud, dragging moan – the sound of a door with rusty hinges opening – and it sounded as though he was sad, instead of being in pain.

"The titan's done with," Gangplank turned to the deck of his ship, his eyes darting from battle to battle. Green spectral horses raced everywhere, with baleful glowing eyes of the undead who were still fighting the Jagged Hooks. "Now the Mist,"

He then remembered giving orders to two men to retrieve his prize, and his eyes burnt with frustration again. _Where are those two idiots?_

As though answering his question, an explosion caught his attention. Alarmed, Gangplank strode over to the railing where the source of the noise was, and peered down.

He was greeted with the sight of a large hole blown through his cabin, with splinters of wood still falling into the rolling sea beneath. Inside his cabin, two figure stood out. He recognized them by their ragged cloaks, if not for the idiotic man who had openly tried to stab his throat back in the merchant's ship. Earlier the man who was dressed in rugged tunic and breeches, was now donning a suit of golden armour, adorned with spoils of beasts.

Then he saw the figure beside the man, who had been hooded earlier. And Gangplank's face contorted in fury. She had a mane of vibrant red hair, with steel-grey skin and golden eyes that burnt with strength. In her palm was a ball of fire, obviously conjured by the use of magic.

Somehow he did not care how inhuman the creature looked, as both of them were pulling the glass tank towards the opening where they had blown from the wall of his cabin. They both pushed, toppling the glass tank sideways.

And the Marai he had tracked all the way from the Blue Flame Islands to the middle of the Guardian's Sea was released into the sea, the harpoon already removed from her tail. The creature dived beneath the surface, and was soon out of his sight. All the tricks and ploys he used to lure the Marai to the surface – all for nothing.

At that moment, Gangplank lost his cool entirely.

"_You bloody fuckers!_" he roared with the wrath of a dragon, aiming his gun at them both. The woman's head shot towards him in alarm, and she quickly pushed the man away. Gangplank fired two quick shots, but missed as the woman had faster reflexes. Soon, they disappeared from his sight, and the pirate king bellowed with all the rage in the world.

In his fury, he viciously cleaved a skeleton with his flaming sword, scattering its yellowed bones upon his feet. He then grabbed a pirate by his collar, baring his teeth at him and screamed in his face. "Tell all the Hooks. Get 'em both!" he roared. "I want 'em dead. _Dead!_"

* * *

**Thanks for all the reviews and your support for this story! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time! **


	19. Chapter 19: Keepsake

**Chapter 19: Keepsake **

Shyvana shook her head vehemently, glaring at the prince as though he was mad. "You're _fucking_ crazy," she quipped, and turned away from him.

"That's the only way we can get her out of here," Jarvan argued. "You asked for a solution, and I gave you. Yet you poke holes in them,"

In a fit of rage she whirled back. "You plan to attract every-fucking-one on this ship to us!"

Jarvan crossed his arms in disbelief. "So, you have a better idea?"

"No,"

"We go with my idea then,"

She remained unconvinced, pacing back and forth nervously while glaring at him. He saw how her fingers kept fiddling with her cloak, a clear sign of how anxious she was. "What if," she murmured. "What if Gangplank decides we are much more dangerous than the army of the dead, and decides to send all his men and cannons onto us? We can't escape then."

"Are you saying you're regretting your choice of saving this poor creature over here?" Jarvan gestured to the Marai, whom they had helped remove the harpoon from her tail. He quickly rubbed alcohol onto her wound after that, and did his best to staunch the bleeding.

Shyvana's frown only deepened as she stared right back at him. He simply quirked an eyebrow, daring her to respond. She sighed, and stopped pacing.

"Stand back, prince," she lifted a hand, and conjured a fireball in her palm. The fire danced and grew larger, brightening the whole room as the half-dragon took aim. She drew back her hand, then threw it at the wall.

The fireball hit the wooden wall hard, and exploded.

Once the dust cleared, splinters and broken driftwood fell into the sea beneath them. A large hole, about two arm spans and six feet high was blown right through the captain's cabin. Gangplank will not be pleased.

The ship rumbled and listed more violently. And Shyvana was very sure she had just brought the whole crew's attention to both of them.

"Help me!" Jarvan heaved as he pushed the heavy glass tank towards the hole. Shyvana snuffed out the fire in her palm, and rushed to help the prince tilt the glass tank towards the sea.

The Marai inside stared at them both intently, too exhausted to move. She hardly had the strength to wince or cry out in pain when Jarvan plugged her wound, and the half-dragon only hoped that their efforts would not be futile.

Shyvana and Jarvan grunted, using every last ounce of strength to tilt the tank sideways. With a loud cry, they both pushed hard, and the heavy glass tank finally toppled to the side with a thud. The freshwater within the tank, tainted with blood, poured into the sea where the broken driftwood still floated above the surface.

The Marai fell out of the tank as well, and dropped right into the sea with a splash. They both held their breath and watched, hoping that they were not too late. They watched, waiting for any movement beneath the sea.

The Marai's tail surfaced for a moment, and with a flick, she dived deep underneath, vanishing from their sight.

Jarvan breathed a sigh of relief, until they both heard a frightening roar like that of an angered beast. Their heads snapped in the direction of the voice, and there, leaning over the railings of his precious ship was Gangplank – his face so red with fury that it almost matched his flaming sword.

He raised his gun at them both, and fired two quick shots.

Shyvana acted on instincts, and wrapped both arms around the stunned prince while pushing him back. The shots missed and hit the wooden floorboards, puncturing two holes onto the floor of his own cabin.

The half-dragon made sure that they were out of Gangplank's range, before she dragged Jarvan from the ground. "We have to leave," she cried, alarmed. "We have to leave, now!"

Jarvan agreed and quickly rushed to his feet. They made their way across the spacious cabin hurriedly, without the help of fire to light up their path. Shyvana had no problem maneuvering through the hordes of treasure, but all Jarvan could see was black shapes within the dark, and he kept stubbing his greaves and crashing his hip against chests and cupboards, to which he cursed and winced in pain.

Shyvana stopped. "Which way?"

Jarvan walked forward, stumbling as he accidentally kicked an odd trinket out of its place. Without another word, he led them both out of the cabin into another corridor, this time much wider and not obstructed by various crates and barrels.

The belly of the ship was criss-crossed with several corridors and paths to cabins. Most of the dark pathways were lighted with low-burning torches held by scones affixed to the walls, and as they moved through the corridors, Shyvana's ears twitched every time she picked up a sound. The battle was still raging, but no doubt Gangplank had sent a few men below deck to search for them.

They kept walking forward, till they reached a staircase that led them deeper into the ship. Jarvan directed the way, and they both descended until they came across a rusty metal door. The prince twisted the knob and pushed gently, noticing how it wasn't locked.

"The lock is picked," he whispered. "We are in the right way,"

And just as Jarvan opened the door ajar, it led them to a chamber where there were two boats, carved and made out of elder oak. Oars were tied to the boats, and the size was clearly made to accommodate six people at most. Shyvana could not help but wonder about the extremely meagre number of boats on the ship, whereas Gangplank's crew easily spanned hundreds of pirates.

Then she realized that the boats were only prepared for a few selected people. And she wondered if Gangplank kept this a secret from his pirate crew who were willing to die for him.

Far across the chamber was a released ramp, where the width was so narrow it could only fit two persons. And there was where the rest of Jarvan's company stood – Lance inspecting the condition of the boats, Alfie with his bow drawn, and August, forever sneering as he looked out at the sea through the space where the ramp was released. They still donned the Jagged Hooks' attire, and armed with curved swords and scimitars.

Behind Lance was a large leather sack, obviously filled.

"Taking advantage, Lance?" Jarvan sighed.

"Just some supplies for our following journey, prince. There isn't room for ethics or moral in times of desperation," August turned to the prince, though his glare was fixed on the half-dragon, stretching his scars even more as his face contorted in fury.

Lance shrugged, and went near the ramp.

"The titan went down. Gangplank won," Alfie said.

"He still has the army of undead to take care of," August snarled.

"No matter," Shyvana said nonchalantly, unafraid to stoke the soldier's ire. "We've just exposed ourselves to everyone. Gangplank would unleash hell upon us. I don't think he cares about the Black Mist anymore,"

As expected, August's eyes only burnt even brighter with fury. His lips curled in distaste, but Shyvana remained unfazed, glaring back at him with equal hatred. "I suppose that explosion earlier was thanks to you?" his hand went to his bludgeon, fiddling with the handle furiously.

"You have a problem with that?" Shyvana arched an eyebrow at him.

Jarvan noticed the tension between them, and stood in August's way with his hand up in a placating manner. "She was acting under my orders,"

"Like hell I am, Jarvan," she sneered at the prince. "I did it because we were running short of time, and there was no other way. I'm not one of your dogs," she spat the last word while staring at August, urging him to fight back.

The prince's eye twitched in irritation, and he thought he finally had enough. "Enough!" he raised his voice, and both August and Shyvana stared at him in shock. The half-dragon's anger was replaced by surprise, astonished by the prince's anger. And she shut up.

Lance feigned a look of ignorance, and walked towards them. "Like you said, all eyes are on us," he crossed his arms, and scratched his closely cropped brown hair. "We can't escape, they will definitely see us. And no matter how fast we row, one blast from their cannons and we are done for,"

"Even in this dark?" Jarvan asked.

Lance nodded. "The seamen are trained to have good eyes, my prince. More so for the Bilgewatians. Seeing in the dark is simply their inborn ability,"

"Is there no other way?" Jarvan muttered.

"There is," August said, his ugly lips suddenly curling into a smug grin as he glared at Shyvana. "We can cause a distraction. And our _friend _here seems adept at that kind of skill,"

The half-dragon scoffed. Jarvan looked at him with a puzzled face.

"She can wreak havoc on the ship. Cause some destruction, since that's what she's so good at. The pirate king and the rest of his crew will have their hands full with the undead and a dragon, while the rest of us will release the boats into the sea, and row away until we're out of the cannons' range," August looked at Shyvana and dared her to protest, but the half-dragon only listened intently, considering his plan.

"Row away while she's still on the ship?" Jarvan frowned.

"She's a dragon. Dragons fly,"

The prince was not convinced. "Sounds rather dangerous,"

"It's a sound plan," the half-dragon admitted, hating to agree with the soldier who had hated her ever since they first met. "Dangerous, but it will work,"

"How?" Jarvan asked, agitated. "There are more than enough men on this ship who would easily notice us escaping with their boats. Gangplank will not take it lightly,"

"Then I'll show them something spectacular. I doubt sea savages have ever seen a human girl morphing into a dragon," Her voice was flat, as though she was not even worried about her own life.

Jarvan stared at her, his lips pursed in a taut line. He was silent for half a minute, before he made up his mind. "I'll go with you then,"

Both Shyvana and August stared at him with eyes wide as saucers.

"Prince, you cannot," the soldier snarled.

"You're mad, Jarvan," Shyvana shook her head.

"Gangplank has his eyes on us. He wants both of us dead," he argued. "If he sees only you, with me missing, he'll be aware of it. And the plan will flunk if I were to go with Lance and the others,"

"What then?" August asked with a panicked voice. "If we got far away, how will you escape from the ship?"

Jarvan shrugged. "Dragons fly," he simply answered, looking at Shyvana.

She would have laughed at the stupid look on August's face, had she not been glaring at the prince. She did not know ifhe offered to help her in making a distraction just so they could get away safely, or if it was simply out of worry for her - that responsibility he always felt he had for her.

August obviously wanted to protest, but he said nothing.

"We better hurry," Lance ushered. "There's no time left. We'll begin at your signal, half-dragon," he stared at her warily, but unlike August, his gaze held neither contempt nor hatred, just suspicion.

Jarvan nodded, brandished his lance, and walked towards the door. Shyvana was about to follow, before August reached out and grabbed her wrist in a death grip, holding her in place.

She glared at the soldier, and she felt heat gathering in her arms.

"You think you have earned the prince's favour," August mocked. "He is obviously besotted with you, aye, I know how well you've manipulated him. Your presence will only taint his name, his honour. Do not think that you can love him, _beast_,"

Shyvana returned his heated glare. "You think you know everything," she spat. Her golden eyes glowed twice as bright, but August was clearly not afraid, nor was he intimidated by the growing heat in his grip. "You don't," she pulled her hand away from him roughly, and turned her back on him.

She could still feel his hateful eyes on her as she exited the quarterdeck, but she had more pressing matters to worry about.

* * *

Two pirates rushed towards them in the narrow corridor with their swords aloft. Shyvana prepared herself for combat, but the prince only held her back, with his lance held in one hand.

"It's too narrow. Allow me," he whispered to her. Shyvana realized how if they fought side-by-side in this corridor they would only end up injuring each other. She nodded, and stood back while the prince waved his lance, taunting their assailants.

The pirates charged, then swung their scimitars at once.

Jarvan reacted swiftly and parried their blades skilfully. One pirate bounced away, dazed, while the other rushed in again, hoping to land a hit on the prince. Their skills were vicious and aggressive, but far too predictable. The prince simply stepped out of the blade's reach with ease, not even bothering to shield himself with his lance.

Shyvana kept some distance between them, and watched. Her gauntlets were heating up, just in case things got ugly.

One pirate howled a battle cry, and thrust his sword with tremendous force. Jarvan saw it coming and dodged, catching the pirate off guard. His momentum threw him forward, and before he could swing his sword backward, Jarvan thrust his lance, and it pierced through the pirate's back before emerging from his chest.

The pirate gurgled as he choked on his blood, and fell to his knees.

"You son of a bitch!"

Jarvan pulled his lance out, spilling blood onto his armour and the floor. He swung his lance in a roundhouse sweep, and the tip of the lance slashed the other pirate right across the belly, spilling guts and blood everywhere.

He screamed in horror and dropped his sword, before keeling over and died.

Shyvana tutted. "Could have done it a little cleaner, prince,"

Jarvan quirked a brow at her. "I was trying to parry, didn't realize he would charge at me like a bull,"

"Nevertheless," she shrugged, and stepped over the gore that littered the corridor. "That's the fifth and sixth pirate who are on us. Gangplank probably sent the whole army on our way,"

"Good," the prince followed closely behind. "The plan will run smoothly then,"

They walked in silence along the corridor, climbing wooden stairs as they made their way to the deck. Jarvan watched her closely, noticing how her shoulder slumped slightly in exhaustion, and how her arm on her wounded side was dangling slightly. He was about to ask her if she was fine, when she suddenly stopped.

"Shyvana?" Jarvan asked.

The half-dragon sighed. "Do you think we'll survive tonight?"

The prince doubted that himself, but he answered. "That's what we've been doing all this while – surviving,"

"It's been a long night," she turned back and stared at the prince. Her eyes were full of fatigue. "Once we walk out there, we might not be able to make it out alive. I can turn into a dragon, but we will still be outnumbered,"

"We only have to buy time,"

"Perhaps. But humans die so easily,"

Jarvan scoffed. "If you're saying how you should go out there alone –"

"That's not what I mean," she reached into her sack and retrieved a folded cloak. When she shook it out, the prince saw how it glimmered with beautiful golden scales, then he noticed how it was actually half-sewn, and he remembered that time when Shyvana was on a tree, sewing her father's hide onto a cloak as best as she could.

She held it out to him. The prince stared at her, confused.

"A token… of our trust," she said awkwardly. "My father's hide can withstand strong heat, even dragonfire. I won't have to worry about burning you alive once we are in the fray. I know it's half-sewn, but you'll still be protected,"

Jarvan stared at her, the half-dragon whose face was a stoic, indifferent mask. Her golden eyes held a glowing ember, showing what she truly felt underneath that icy surface. She may be cold and angry at all times, but here she was, showing him sides of her that she will never show in front of his men.

The prince wanted to say something, but no words could express how he feel.

"And of course," she cleared her throat and looked away, uncomfortable with how he was staring at her. "I'll want it back. I did not say it is yours, j-just lending it," she stammered slightly, much to the prince's mirth. Her eyes lowered slightly, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Just… make it out alive. Keep it well for me,"

Jarvan couldn't help but chuckle, and reached out to accept the cloak.

"I promise,"

* * *

They did not open the door to the deck. Shyvana simply blew it to pieces, announcing their arrival to everyone upon the deck.

Gangplank, who had just carved his way through a horde of horsemen, turned towards the source of the noise with his teeth bared. His jerkin and tricorn hat was splattered with blood and black rotting flesh of the undead, and his eyes were crazed, fed with bloodlust.

The putrid stench of decay and the sharp stinging smell of smoke only intensified when the half-dragon allowed her rage to surge through her blood, feeling her entire body burning up and overwhelmed by her draconic senses. Jarvan followed closely behind her, donning her badly-sewn cloak that shone with golden scales and holding out his lance in an intimidating manner.

The pirate king saw her immediately, and his bloodshot eyes and insane grin only grew wider.

"A Halfling! On my ship! And all this while, I thought you were just a weak, mysterious whelp," he bellowed in laughter. All the Jagged Hooks, save the ones who were still battling the Black Mist which was quickly diminishing somehow, turned in their direction. "If only I had known!" Gangplank strode quickly towards her, his gun and sword both aimed at her.

Jarvan stepped back warily, but Shyvana held her ground.

"I will cut down your head, and hang it on the walls of my cabin," he gritted his teeth, and he came closer. Shyvana remained still, her eyes fixed on the crazed captain. The sails of the _Dead Pool _fluttered slightly.

"I will flay that skin of yours, and wear it proudly in raids," Gangplank pulled out a skin of rum and poured all its contents onto his blade. Using his gun, he made a spark, and the whole sword was ablaze.

Then he stopped, with his face merely inches from hers. No one dared to move.

His voice grew dangerous, and rumbled deeply with bass-like tones as he spoke. "But first I will gouge out those pretty eyes of yours, while you're still alive. And hang you upside down, and litter you with arrows and bolts and harpoons until you drop dead. _Slayer of the_ _half-dragon_. That will make a fine song, aye?"

Without another word, the half-dragon spread out her arms, and roared.

All around her, fires burst into life. Some of the pirates were caught in the blaze and flailed their arms wildly, screaming as they ran in all directions. Gangplank's jerkin caught fire as well, but he roared in laughter, caught the flimsy fabric in one hand and tore it, revealing his chiselled body littered with scars.

"_A good song indeed!_" his grin was mad and bloodthirsty, and as though unbothered by the rising heat, he rushed towards the half-dragon who was still engulfed in her own fire, and aimed a quick shot at her.

Jarvan rolled out of her way. The cloak had shielded him against the explosion that Shyvana caused. The half-dragon dodged with such alarming speed that all Jarvan could see was a flicker of her form. Pirates and undead alike descended upon them, and the prince began carving his way through his enemies, so that they wouldn't get close to the half-dragon.

He tried to peek at the rear part of the ship, to see if Lance and the others had heard the signal and started putting a safe distance between themselves and the _Dead Pool_. But he had too many to fight, and could not be distracted.

Shyvana threw fireballs at the pirate king, who evaded with such finesse that it was almost unfit for a man his size. Some skimmed past his skin, and managed to sear his skin a little, but Gangplank was running amok, and all he could see and feel was the heat of the battle.

Gangplank dashed forward, catching her by surprise. He brought his flaming sword down with a ferocious swing, and Shyvana held up both her metal gauntlets, the flames still shielding her.

The sword clashed against her gauntlets. Steel met steel, and the flames on their weapons only burnt even stronger. Shyvana struggled to hold her gauntlets up, baffled by his almost inhuman strength, and suddenly she felt fear gnawing at her insides.

A hand grabbed the front of her cloak, catching her by surprise. She looked down to see that Gangplank had thrust his hand past the wall of fire, the unbearable heat singeing his skin and flesh. But Gangplank did not seem to feel it. Shyvana faltered a little, and her gauntlets gave way, which the flaming sword descended upon her.

She twisted her body away as best as she could, as the pirate king had her in his grip, halting her movements. However, she could not avoid the sword, and the sharp tip slashed her from her shoulder to her hip, spraying blood upon her face and Gangplank's torso.

The half-dragon's eyes widened in fear and pain, and she gasped as more blood spilled upon the deck. The fire around her died instantly, and Gangplank merely threw her aside, turning to the prince who was still battling a horde of enemies. She fell onto the deck helplessly.

"I'll come back to you later," he growled. "After I deal with this snotty bastard," he turned his back on her, leaving the defeated half-dragon laying on the deck, blood still spilling from her wound.

Somehow her wounds were not fatal enough to kill her instantly, and like all dragons, she was far more resilient than humans, and it would take her a longer time to die from bleeding out. But still, this wound could kill her, if she did not do something to stop the bleeding.

She felt her strength waning, as though every bit of her energy had left her. Shyvana shuddered in pain, staring at the pirate king whose back was decorated with all kinds of scars – the blatant signs of a survivor. His other hand that had grabbed her was scorched red, and she could see blisters rising, but the captain seemed oblivious to the pain.

This man was a demon. The Jagged Hooks were nothing compared to him.

Jarvan would not survive if he ever fought him.

"Shit," she gasped, rolling over to her good side. Her shoulder screamed in pain, and she felt an agonizing sting in her wound, stripping her of her strength and will to fight.

* * *

The prince slammed his way through the pirates, nearly overwhelmed by their numbers. His golden armour was coloured crimson, and the cloak that Shyvana had lent him even had a few patches of blood on it. Sweat beaded his forehead as he looked around, and there was a thin stream of blood lining his cheek, bleeding slightly.

His eyes found the half-dragon, lying on the deck and bleeding profusely, and his heart plummeted in fear. But before he could make his way to her, he heard someone reloading a gun behind him.

He quickly rolled away just as the shot rang out, missing him. When he stood, Gangplank was in front of him, a flaming sword in hand and a gun held in another, but his arm was singed. His face was a mask of terror – hungry for blood and battle, and his desire to kill was evident. His well-toned torso was splattered with blood, and Jarvan was afraid to ask whose blood it belonged to.

The prince prepared himself in a battle stance, suddenly doubting his chances of surviving this battle.

Without another word, Gangplank charged.

Jarvan did not hesitate, and lunged his lance forward. The lance lengthened at the prince's command, just as Gangplank parried it with his sword. The thick air was filled with the sounds of steel ringing, and Jarvan withdrew his lance, ready for another attack.

He noticed that all the pirates were standing aside, some watching their captain fight the prince whereas some helped to repel the remaining undead of the Black Mist. Either way, he realized that they were too afraid to intervene their captain's battle.

"You're afraid, _boy,_" Gangplank mocked. Jarvan knew he was taunting him, and only held his ground, refusing to attack. But what Gangplank said was actually true – the prince's hands were trembling. He had to take a few deep breaths to calm the tremor in his hands.

"Does it matter?" Jarvan said, and he was glad that his voice did not betray the fear in his heart. "You are the king of the seas, we cannot escape you,"

The pirate king chuckled. "Why try then?"

"We weren't escaping," the lie came out as smoothly as he wanted, and the prince allowed himself a smug grin. "We know the treasure you hold. If we were to die here, we might as well make you lose everything first,"

Gangplank's mirthless grin died. And Jarvan could see rage starting to build in his head. _Good,_ the prince thought hopefully, _angry men charge blindly._

"Pirate's life doesn't suit me," Jarvan continued. What he was doing was identical to poking a stick at a hungry bear, daring it to lunge and kill. "But you aren't giving us much choice either. We would be doing the world a favour if we bring this ship down with us, should you ever wish to send us to the gibbet,"

A vein bulged and throbbed on Gangplank's forehead. "You talk big, _cunt_,"

"Oh?" Jarvan couldn't keep the arrogant grin off his face. "So what happened to the Marai you caught?"

His plan worked.

The pirate king roared with wounded pride and charged towards the prince, bringing his sword down in savage swings and slashes. Where earlier Gangplank fought with grace and utmost skill like an experienced swordsman, now he was hacking and slashing like a desperate primitive man. But the strength in his swings were still terrifying, and even when Jarvan dodged and blocked, he could feel the whisper of the air where his flaming sword had cut through mere seconds ago.

The prince expected the captain to slow down once his energy depleted. Instead, Gangplank's strikes got faster and stronger, until Jarvan was blocking more than he was dodging his attacks.

_Shit!_ The prince was having trouble keeping up, and soon one particular swing caught him in his breastplate, and if it weren't for the armour he was wearing he would have been cleaved into two. Jarvan was knocked off the floor, and he fell with a thud, struggling to hold his lance upright.

Gangplank brought up his sword again, ready to land a fatal blow. It came down fast, too fast for the prince to recover from the fall and parry the sword.

Jarvan could only stare in shock.

* * *

When Jarvan and Gangplank began their duel, Shyvana was struggling to stay awake. Her face was pale as paper, and her breaths were rapid and shallow. She could only lie on her back and stare at the heavens, her eyes fixed on the darkness – the dark clouds that had concealed the stars and moon from lighting the earth and sea.

_How quaint_, she sighed. _To die in the middle of the sea amidst enemies. They won't build me a pyre. They will probably just toss me overboard, and my corpse will feed the fishes. So cold, so lonely._

_If you don't want that,_ a voice scolded her lightly. Shyvana closed her eyes in frustration, trying to shut it out to no avail. _Stand up and fight, then. _

"How?" she murmured. "I barely have the strength to stay awake. I can't fight him. He's too strong,"

_Excuses, _it chided. _You poor, poor child. You are too scared to face him, and so you choose to lay down and die_.

"You know nothing,"

The voice tutted, rumbling behind her head. It was starting to give her a headache, and Shyvana groaned slightly. _I know everything, you poor child. If only you know what you're capable of. Your father taught you badly._

"Whoever the fuck you are, don't insult my father," she growled, then realized how stupid she sounded, scolding an imagined voice in her head. The half-dragon moaned and sighed, steadying her breaths and controlling her anger as the pain intensified. Pain always makes one lose his mind.

She closed her eyes, knowing she would succumb to her injuries at any moment. She was too weak to even summon a spark, and she was all burnt out. Shyvana heaved an excruciating sigh, accepting her fate.

_Oh_, the voice taunted. _You think I'm just a figment of your imagination? A voice conjured by that simple mind of yours? Poor, poor child. Apparently Aurus Signum fathered a half-wit._

Shyvana's eyes shot wide open upon hearing her father's name. _The Golden Sign_, she thought as her father's name popped up in her mind – her father had mentioned to her what his name meant, but she never knew why he was called that way. The Golden Sign? She understood how his skin and scales were a beautiful sheen of bronze and gold, like a fresh-forged suit of golden armour, but why _sign_?

"Who are you?" she spoke to no one in particular, her eyes still affixed to the inky black skies above her. The voice went silent for a moment, and she thought that maybe she really imagined it. She was dying after all…

_One of your kind,_ it spoke again. The voice was firm, sure and confident, like a king. _One of your own. One of my blood. The thunder is my voice, and the rains are my tears. When my rage wakes, the storm awakes as well. Aurus mentioned a child. He wanted you to come to me. _

"You're not real," she whispered to herself. She could not understand what was told, and so she denied him. "I don't know who or what you are, but you are not real,"

She almost felt the skies growl in anger, as though there really was a storm coming.

_I hope you're just being stupid because you're half-dead, child. Get up. Get up and fight. Today is not the day you die._

"I wish I could," she murmured in dismay. "I'm so tired," she whined softly, and closed her eyes, wanting to rest for a while.

The dark skies flashed for a moment, and there was indeed the deep rumble of thunder. A storm. A storm is coming.

_Get up, you stupid child! _The skies flashed again and thunder boomed, lighting up the sky. Still, no rain came. She wanted to feel the soft kiss of the rain, to wash the blood away. _Get up! Remember your father! Remember your keepsake! Avenge your father! Protect what will finally be yours, you dense child!_

_What will finally be mine,_ Shyvana thought, and she reached out to touch the jewel hiding beneath her withered, bloodied cloak; the cool touch of the smooth polished edges met her fingertips. She almost smiled at that thought, thinking of the prince. Behind her closed eyes, she saw him smiling with that kind, genuine smile that she had come to adore.

_Protect him! Protect what is yours! You have lost enough!_

When Shyvana opened her eyes, they were bright golden with newfound rage.

* * *

Gangplank brought his flaming sword down, ready to split the man's skull into half. His mouth was wide with a triumphant grin, knowing he could never parry his fatal blow. He savoured the look on his face – horrified, appalled, knowing he was going to die.

The flaming sword was two inches from his face, when something hard yet soft crashed into him from his left, knocking the breath straight out of his lungs. Despite the hard blow Gangplank's grip remained on his sword while he was propelled to the far end of the ship, still wondering what was happening.

His head was tossed around, and before he could break his fall and see what interrupted his duel, a large claw reached out for his head. Gangplank cursed and ducked, at the same time holding his sword aloft.

The clawed hand grabbed his flaming sword, rendering him immobile if he kept his hold on his sword. Looking forward, Gangplank saw _her, _the half-dragon in mid-transformation, which she lived up to her name.

A whirlwind of flames encircled her, and Gangplank could feel his skin tightening and beginning to sear from the heat. His tricorn hat was blown away, revealing his head which was bald in the middle, but with thick hair as black as his heart. The half-dragon's cloak swirled and flapped amidst the circle of flames, and her face was the face of an angry dragon, full of burning hatred and ire.

Her red and gold gauntlets melted and encased her hands, which was quickly turning into claws and covered in blue-grey scales. Her pupils narrowed into slits, and her forearms were growing into wings that spanned almost as wide as his sails. Her sea of red hair grew and formed a long tail, lashing about in an enraged rhythm.

Gangplank stared. Never had he truly seen such a sight, and he found it terrifying yet beautiful. He was petrified, until he realized his breeches were smoking, and his instincts prompted him to let go of his sword, and rolled aside.

He watched as the girl, now fully transformed into a dragon with steel grey skin and blazing golden eyes, grabbed his sword in both hands and roared. His sword glowed red-hot, then white, and that was when the half-dragon simply bent it until it was a useless hunk of steel. She threw it aside unceremoniously.

The pirate king grinned. Aye, a good song indeed. One to die for.

* * *

Jarvan watched as the dragon's tail whipped around, agitated. He saw how the wooden floorboards blackened as her fire touched them, and how the long, bloody slash from her shoulder to her hip dripped with boiling blood, hissing and smoking as it touched the cold deck. The prince shuddered, trying to still his thundering heartbeat, which had still not recovered from his near-death experience earlier.

He cursed, grabbed his lance with shaking fingers and got up.

The dragon began pounding her claws on the pirate king, but Gangplank was lithe as he was strong and deadly. Every punch the half-dragon landed on the deck was filled with fire, and as she snapped the boards into half, splinters of wood burst into flames. Gangplank dodged every punch and fired his gun whenever he could, trying his hardest to aim a quick and true shot, but the dragon was quicker.

Fire spread, then the pirates grew frantic. Some began shouting in fear and bringing out buckets of water, trying to douse the flames.

Shyvana was more than angered. Everywhere she went, a long stream of blood trailed behind her. Gangplank was laughing, a wicked gleam in his eyes, dancing around as the dragon's punches missed a few times, though there were gashes of blood and blackened spots upon the pirate king's face and naked torso.

Jarvan had never seen a man so fearless, so bloodthirsty.

Then the prince caught sight of a silhouette out in the sea, far yet noticeable. He could trace the outline of a boat, approaching the horizon, to where Jarvan did not know. He looked back at the stream of blood trailing after the half-dragon, only to know that they were running out of time.

Strangely, the skies flashed as rain began to pour. Drizzle at first, then it was as though the skies was maddened by the existence of the dragon, answering her call with lightning and deafening thunderclaps. The wind picked up, and began whipping the sails with tremendous force.

What was even more strange was Hecarim, the spectral warrior who was fused with his steed, burst out of nowhere, with tentacles wrapped around him and green fire enveloping his form. He waved his glaive like a crazed man, howling and cursing in disgust as his legionnaire ran free. Barrels and crates and chests were all knocked over, with the pirates who were putting out the flames hopping to one side, getting out of their way.

"_For the Ruined King!_" Hecarim roared, his hooves pounding in an irregular rhythm. Far behind him, Illaoi struggled with her golden idol, her Eye of God that shimmered and glowered with raw power, trying its best to hold down Hecarim.

Shyvana and Gangplank simply took no heed of Hecarim's appearance. Gangplank pulled a sword from a dead pirate and fought the half-dragon sword to claw.

Hecarim struggled against Nagakabouros' hold, his hooves stamping furiously and his glaive swinging around in rage, accidentally slicing his fellow horseman in the shoulder. Hecarim screamed, as more tentacles wrapped about him.

The green fire that engulfed him blazed higher, and suddenly Hecarim was free, bursting from his restrains like a provoked bull let out of its stable. He charged forward with surprising speed, rushing towards Shyvana and Gangplank.

The prince frantically raised his hand, conjuring his magic shield around the half-dragon. The horseman crashed into both the shielded dragon and Gangplank, who was unprotected, but the momentum he built was so great, that the shield shattered instantly, sending the dragon sprawling and skidding across the deck. Gangplank was sent flying into a pile of sacks, which knocked him out even though they cushioned his fall.

Jarvan heaved and collapsed to one knee. He had never tried forming a shield so large in such little time, and it sapped his energy greatly. Nonetheless, he climbed to his feet, striding over to the dragon who was getting up and trying to make her way to Gangplank.

"Shyvana," he wheezed, the cloak shielding him from her flames but he still felt uneasy with the heat around him. The dragon's head turned around, glaring at him, growling softly. "We have to go,"

"_Let me kill him_," she hissed, her voice scaring him.

"No," he masked his fear, and said flatly. The half-dragon's eyes glowered. "Your wound, it can kill you. Save your strength and let's get out of here. It's not worth it,"

She was about to protest, when Hecarim woke from his fall, spinning around like a disoriented man. But all around him, the temperature plummeted drastically, and not even Shyvana's flames could warm the cold.

A cold green mist wafted through the ship, obscuring their vision. The rain continued to pour, and Jarvan had to struggle to see the boat in the distance, slowly fading out of his sight.

Hecarim howled and killed everything in sight, even his own horseman. Gangplank was still unconscious in the corner, whereas Illaoi and the band of pirates stayed out of Hecarim's way, their weapons raised warily but not daring enough to approach the spectre's wrath. The undead was all repelled, leaving Hecarim and his legion which he was butchering mercilessly.

"_Where are you?!_" he roared, cutting another one of his own with his glaive. "_Reveal yourself!_" The mist soon reached him, and Hecarim stopped his crazed slaughter instantly, lowering his glaive and looking around.

His eyes fell on the dragon and the prince, then on the pirate king who was groaning slightly, then on the priestess of the Mother Serpent and the pirates who faced him with trepidation. But he saw none of them, as though they never truly existed.

For one moment, there was only the hiss of the rain. Even the thunder stopped. Complete silence.

Then a blue-green spectral spear shot through the mist and embedded itself into the deck, two steps away from Jarvan.

Amidst the growing mist, the prince made out the shape of a thin, scrawny figure. A warrior, no doubt, armoured but there was something protruding from its back. And in its hand was a spear, poised and ready to throw.

"_Traitor_," a female voice rumbled throughout the ship, vindictive and hateful.

She spoke only one word, but Hecarim flashed a grin. He reared on his hind legs, brandishing his glaive and cackled, looking at the warrior amidst the mist.

"_Yes, I remember you,_" his tone was low, but proud of himself.

The figure in the mist did not speak. All around them, the tension grew tenfold.

Hecarim's grin then quickly turned into disgust, his spectral form glowing twice as bright. When he spoke, his tones were sombre and full of undeniable hate.

"_Kalista,_"

* * *

"Shit! We have to go! Quickly!" Jarvan tapped the dragon's shoulder nervously, while she snapped at him, annoyed.

"_Hold onto my neck!_"

The prince wrapped his hands around the half-dragon's neck, as Shyvana spread her wings wide and was about to take flight. Jarvan could feel her hot blood seeping through his armor, but he kept his hold around her tightly as her legs pushed forward, running towards the railings.

She smashed into a ballista, throwing bits and pieces of metal around as she charged forward. Jarvan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tightly, then Shyvana roared and they were suddenly in the air.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gangplank woke up. He groaned and his hand went to his head, rubbing his temple furiously. He remembered little where he was still fighting the half-dragon, until something crashed into them and rendered him unconscious.

"Fuck," he cursed, and got up from the sacks he was lying on. He immediately noticed the mist around him, and the unnatural chill seeping through his bones. His vision swam, but Gangplank could make out shapes, and he quickly looked for the half-dragon.

His heart sank out of fear when he saw the man in the golden armour hanging around the dragon's neck, holding on tightly. Then the dragon rushed forward, destroying one of his ballistae and took flight, gliding through the air and away from his ship.

"Damn you!" he bellowed and got up a little too quickly, which he swayed slightly when he was on his feet. He was oblivious to the new guest aboard his ship, his heart overwhelmed with anger and frustration having lost the dragon again.

Then his eyes fell on the other ballista beside the destroyed one – loaded and ready to fire.

* * *

"_Fuck!_" Jarvan screamed, his stomach churning and ready to turn. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" his hold on the dragon's neck tightened, as he closed his eyes tightly. Shyvana sailed through the air at blinding speed, and Jarvan could only feel the wind whipping his face.

Shyvana growled. "_Stop thrashing around! You're not a fucking princess!_"

"I wasn't ready! Fuck it! You're going too fast!"

"_Goddammit, Jarvan,_" Shyvana hissed, obviously annoyed. "_If you keep rolling around like a girl I'll have to throw you off –_"

She suddenly gasped, and her whole body trembled. Jarvan noticed how her wings had stopped pumping, and he thought he felt something cold and hard touching his leg.

When he looked down, a long, massive spear protruded from the dragon's body and was right between his legs. The tip of the spear was drenched in blood. Shyvana shuddered again, saying nothing, still gliding through the air.

"Shyvana?" he called out. But she did not respond.

Then suddenly they were falling, and falling. And they plunged into the sea underneath.

* * *

He kept his hold on her, hanging onto her neck as they were underneath the black waves. It was cold and dark all around him, and he only tightened his hold, even though he realized that she was weighing him down. His feet kicked vigorously to stay afloat and not sink deeper into the depths, and finally his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The half-dragon slowly shrunk, reverting back to her human form with the spear still protruding from her abdomen. Her eyes were closed, with her blood flowing freely into the sea, and bubbles of air streaming from her mouth and nose.

The prince held one arm around her shoulders, careful not to toss her around or it would tear her wound even further. But it was impossible not to if he had to swim forward. He mustered all his strength and kicked forward and upward, praying that he was not too far from his men.

His heart hammered madly, fearing for her life. But he banished the thought from his mind. First he would have to get themselves to the surface first.

As though hearing his prayers, an oar reached into the depths, telling him that he was not far from the surface after all. He used all his strength and kicked forward, with the half-dragon slack in his arm, and finally he reached out and grasped the oar firmly.

With a rough tug, Lance and August pulled them up. Jarvan broke the surface with a loud gasp.

"Help," his teeth chattered from the cold, and they quickly helped him up, after dragging the unconscious half-dragon into the boat first. He was shivering violently, unable to keep the chill away. "Give… Give me all the medical supplies you have… She's dying,"

Shyvana gasped for air as Alfie laid her on her side, avoiding the spear that was buried deep into her abdomen. She started coughing violently, and she shuddered, a stream of blood flowing from her lips.

"The wounds, there's nothing we can do. I'm surprised she's still alive," Lance winced.

Jarvan hurried over to her, upending all the contents in his satchel. Alfie took out rolls of bandages, antiseptics and healing salves. August searched as well, but only handed out rolls of bandages.

"It's all I have," August said"Lance, keep rowing,"

"We're far away from the _Dead Pool_, at least," Lance assured.

"_I don't care about Gangplank!_" Jarvan yelled, startling his men. He was still shivering from the cold, but Shyvana trembled even more violently, her rapid breaths a sign of how much pain she was in.

"No human can survive this, prince," Alfie's voice was small, staring at the half-dragon remorsefully.

"She's only half-human," Jarvan denied. "She can survive this. There's a chance. We only need to help her," He could feel August's eyes boring a hole into him, but he was too scared to care.

"Get the spear out," August said lowly. "If you need to help her, get rid of the spear first,"

"Is she still awake?" Lance asked, and passed a bottle of seeds to the prince. Jarvan accepted and looked into the contents. _Poppy seeds, _he thought, and understood how well one seed could numb the pain.

"Shyvana," he laid her head on his lap, tapping her cheek softly. "Can you hear me?"

The half-dragon trembled and coughed, but she answered. "You fucking shouted in my ear," she quipped, but her voice was weak and soft, and the prince had to struggle to hear her. "Of course I did,"

"I'm going to yank the spear out. Here, take this," he placed a seed near her lips, which Shyvana accepted without so much as a grunt. Jarvan and Alfie then grasped the shaft of the spear, their expressions grim as Shyvana's face still contorted in pain.

Without warning, they pulled. The spear slid out without much resistance, but Shyvana's eyes flared open and she screamed.

Blood poured from her wound, and Lance and Alfie quickly pressed bandages near the large hole in her abdomen, doing their best to try to slow the bleeding. August took the oars and rowed. Jarvan started stitching the wound that gashed from her shoulder to her hip, the one that drenched her cloak crimson.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he couldn't save her. They do not have the supplies to mend the hole in her abdomen, and she was bleeding out. Jarvan felt his eyes burning, but he refused to admit it.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Shyvana sighed. "Why bother? You can't save me,"

"I have to try," he choked. "Can you make fire? Perhaps it can help,"

Shyvana reached out her hand and opened her palm. Her fingers were stained with her own blood, and a spark flared, then winked out. She tried harder, her whole body trembling violently, then her hand simply went slack.

"I can't," she sighed in defeat. Alfie lowered his head. Jarvan still continued the stitches, refusing to accept her fate.

"Jarvan, stop what you're doing,"

"I have to try," he shed a tear, but nothing more. "I have to,"

"Jarvan, it won't work,"

His hands stopped, her wounds barely stitched. His head hung low, and he hid his face beneath his hair, ashamed to look at her.

"Please, look at me," she spoke softly, and he did. He saw how her eyes were dimmed, having lost the fire in them, and how her lips paled as blood matted her cheeks and chin. She smiled at him, just a slight curl at the corner of her lips.

"You've been nothing but good to me," for once, her voice was free of anger. "I hope it's not too much to ask… Can you do me one last favour?"

"Could never say no to you," he reached into her gauntlet and held her hand, squeezing it gently. Her hand was cold, which wasn't like her. Usually she was full of fire, but now all the warmth had left her. Jarvan forced a smile despite the grief he felt, and cradled her head in his lap.

"Build me a pyre when you reach the land," she whispered. He rolled his thumb across her palm, caressing her. She took another deep breath before speaking. "And scatter my ashes into the wind. That is all I ask of you,"

"I'll hunt him down," Jarvan vowed. "The drake. I will help you avenge your father. And for you, for the life you deserved but could never live,"

"No," she spoke sharply. Her hand twitched slightly in his grasp. "Go home, prince. Leave him be. Do the most good you can for this wretched world. Everyone deserves kindness. Your mother would love to see you again," her voice grew softer, and trailed away. She took his hand and guided him to the small sack beneath her cloak.

The sack opened slightly, and his jewel fell out into his hand. It gleamed brightly. And Shyvana grinned proudly, her teeth and mouth full of blood. He could not see anger or hatred on her face, only acceptance and content. "I kept my promise,"

Jarvan sobbed, but he still refused to let the tears fall. Instead, he held her hand tightly, looking into her eyes as they closed.

"I wish," she murmured softly, only loud enough for his ears. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances," her hand went slack in his hold, and she ceased breathing.

* * *

There was only silence on the boat. August and Alfie said nothing, leaving the prince to mourn for the half-dragon. Lance took the oars and continued rowing, the rain no longer a heavy downpour but just a slight drizzle. Even the wind was still.

The prince held her cold body close to him, her head right under his chin. The blood had stopped flowing, but it was already too late. He kissed her on the top of her head once, twice; with his other hand gripping his sapphire with rage. He hoped that somehow her dragonblood had worked miracles, and anytime she would wake up and slap him across his face for holding her so intimately.

But she only remained still. Dead. In his arms.

The prince sighed. Then he heard a voice calling out, singing. Soft and lonely. Full of grief, sadness and angst.

Lance and Alfie looked around warily. August reached for his weapon. Jarvan only ignored the voice and sighed into Shyvana's hair, breathing her scent. She smelled of smoke and fire, and it reminded him how feisty she always was. That thought only left him feeling hollow inside, as though something in him died with her as well.

Another voice sang, joining in the song.

"Prince," August warned.

"Leave them be," he sighed, brooking no argument.

Soon it was a choir. All singing in sad, grievous tones. Alfie looked around the boat with fear, and they noticed something swimming just beneath the surface, something so extraordinary, he reared back instantly, astounded.

A head broke the surface of the sea – a young maiden, with doll-like eyes and full lips staring at August, Lance and Alfie. Her eyes were black and yellow, with her skin that shone with unusual green and blue hues, but the girl was still beautiful.

The men stared and said nothing, astonished.

A few more broke surface. They surrounded the boat in a wide circle, doing nothing and just staring at them in wonder and curiosity. But they never stopped singing, their melodic voices mesmerizing and wondrous, singing songs which could bring men to tears.

"Prince," Lance muttered. "We're surrounded,"

Jarvan finally looked up, and saw the horde of Marai that surrounded them. His eyes were red and his face was grim and full of grief. The prince said nothing, knowing that the Marai all had their eyes on him. He only held Shyvana tighter, refusing to let go.

"The one in your hand," a young girl spoke behind him, and Jarvan turned, startled. It was a young Marai that looked almost similar to others, but there was an aura about her that told him that she was their leader. Her headdress was like a flowing veil of woven scales and seaweed, with a rather bright blue stone in the middle of it; and her eyes were full of hope and wonder. She was staring at the Demacian sapphire in his hand. "Is that the moonstone? Are you the one?"

Jarvan's brows knotted in a frown. "Moonstone?"

Her face fell. And Jarvan suddenly felt sorry for her. "You are not the one? The bearer of the moonstone that glows even in the darkest abyss? I got you the abyssal pearl, isn't that what you want?"

Her hand reached out from the sea. In her palm was a round, beautiful pearl that was as dark as the night. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he knew he wasn't the one she was looking for.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about, or who is the one you seek," he showed her his sapphire, that only glowed slightly before fading out. "This is just a normal gem,"

"Oh," she looked down in shame, her head bobbing slightly above the surface. Some of the Marai began floating away as well, disappointed with their results. Then the young Marai looked at the half-dragon, snug in the prince's arms, and her eyes shone with pity.

"Is she alright?" she asked.

"She's dead," he croaked, looking away.

"She has such beautiful red hair, and her skin…" the Marai's voice trailed away, then her eyes widened as realization dawned upon her. "… blue-grey skin, and a man in golden armour. It was you?"

Jarvan looked at her nonchalantly, too tired to wonder what she was saying. He arched an eyebrow, puzzled at why the Marai was beaming happily.

"Why, you saved one of our sisters!" she grinned. "You and her, freed her from the cruel men! Thanks to you she was returned to the sea, and recovering from her wounds,"

Jarvan offered a sad smile. "That is good to hear,"

"The lady… Do you love her?"

Silence.

"It does not matter now," he whispered, stroking Shyvana's hand softly. "She's gone, there's nothing I can do,"

"I can help you,"

Jarvan looked at her warily. He wanted to believe her, but she was too far gone to be saved.

The Marai remained hopeful, smiling at him happily. "You saved one of our own, it's only fair if we return the favour. If she's dead not long ago, there may be a chance,"

The prince was silent for a long while, before letting out an exasperated sigh. After all, what harm could it do? He shifted the half-dragon in his embrace, leaning her over the edge of the boat. The Marai swam closer, and her hand reached for Shyvana's cold and pale ones.

Behind her, her sisters flocked. Their tails were a beautiful shimmer and gleam that reflected the sea's colours, briefly illuminating the dark waters. Together, they held their hands out, and Jarvan soon realized that their tails were truly _glowing_, and not just reflecting the sea's colours.

The Marai took Shyvana's hand in hers, and the waves soon rolled stronger, hitting the stern and keel of the boat, rocking it with force.

And the sea water flowed, from the flock of Marai from behind to their leader. She held a staff of a curved, ringed blade with jagged edges and glimmering blue steel. In the other hand, she held the half-dragon's hand, and the water that flowed from them slowly ebbed into her cold pale fingers. Miraculously, the water that touched her fingers seeped through her skin, and soon more water climbed onto her forearm, doing the same.

_Water magic, _Jarvan was awed. He hardly indulged himself in the arcane arts, as poring over scrolls and ancient tomes was never his hobby. Still, he couldn't help but be amazed and grateful – seeing the seafolk that was only told in legends and fabled stories alive before him, and their inborn ability to work wonders with sea water.

He watched as water continued to flow into Shyvana's dead body. His hope soon turned to ashes when he noticed no change in the half-dragon's condition, until he saw the long ugly scar that stretched from her shoulder to hip began to mend itself, the undone stitches falling off and the flesh began knitting itself. All that was left was a thin red scar that would remain for the rest of her life, but Jarvan couldn't care less.

Then the large hole in her abdomen grew smaller and smaller. Blood still stained and drenched the boat, but her skin that was pale as paper earlier soon coloured, returning to its original sheen of blue and grey.

Her perforated stomach closed, leaving a horrifying scar as well upon her tender flesh. Shyvana did not open her eyes, but suddenly expelled a long intake of breath, and Jarvan did the same as well, not knowing that he had been holding his breath all this while.

He quickly placed two quivering fingers just below her jawbone. He felt movement – a pulse, weak but very much alive.

The prince held her even tighter, and laughed and cried. "Thank you," he sobbed "Thank you so, so much," he looked out into the sea, expecting to see the horde of Marai beaming with joy, but all that met him was silence. The waves calmed and rolled gently against the boat, but there was nothing above the surface.

They simply disappeared, as though they never existed.

Then a long tune sounded far across the sea, and Jarvan knew his thanks were heard.

* * *

Shyvana's head laid in his lap, and she did not wake ever since she was revived. But her heartbeat was growing strong, and her breaths were more controlled. Jarvan smiled to himself, stroking her fiery hair with affection.

Alfie took the oars, with August and Lance sleeping in the opposite side. The young lad only kept rowing, but the prince could see he was relieved knowing that the half-dragon managed to stay alive. His men had had a long night, and so had he, but he couldn't sleep just yet.

They had no idea where they were, so they only followed the stars. The downpour had ended, and now the dark clouds no longer concealed the sky. Stars littered the new moon sky, and the prince could easily pinpoint the Frozen Watcher, their only indication that they were going north.

Shyvana's breath shuddered, and Jarvan looked down at her. She shivered slightly from the cold, so the prince took off the cloak she had lent him earlier to cover her. He stopped, looking at the half-dragon's badly-sewn cloak. The handicraft was so atrocious that the golden hide was crumpled and out of place. One part of it peeled away – obviously the cloak was only half-sewn.

His mind shifted to that memory where he had laughed at her when she hid atop the tree sewing the cloak, throwing insults and threats at him as he mocked her sewing skills. The prince smiled, then chuckled lightly at the thought.

Taking a pocket knife from his satchel, he cut away the stitches the half-dragon had made on the cloak. Then he threaded a needle, and began to sew the beautiful golden hide upon the leather cloak.

* * *

**Longest chapter so far. It was actually supposed to end on a cliffhanger, but that wouldn't be fair. I won't be writing until the end of May, so this is my gift for you, for now. Thank you for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20: Worthy

**Chapter 20: Worthy**

There was no warmth, no company, only cold silence, topped with a dreadful sense of loneliness. She had no idea how long she had walked, but walk she did, for it was the only thing she could do now.

She knew she was dead, she was sure of it. She felt herself giving in, her heartbeat slowing until it could beat no more. Then she was in a daze, and she knew she was near.

What she did not know was the journey after death. She expected something, an afterlife perhaps, but all that was left after death was _nothingness_. There was no heaven or hell, like those fables she always heard when she was a child. _Bad kids were always punished in hell,_ she remembered. _The good ones ascend to heaven, where food and wine are always bountiful, and the landscapes are often lush and beautiful. _

_Perhaps I belong nowhere,_ she thought morosely. _I was forsaken in life. Now forsaken in death. It makes no difference. _

She kept walking until she heard a long, soft whistle. It travelled from afar, and its sweet, melodious tones reached her ears. The morose and woe in her was lost for a moment when she heard the tune, replaced by curiosity and wonder. She approached the source of the sound, believing it to grow louder as she went closer to it.

Suddenly, her pinpricked vision widened, and she found herself standing among a forest of apple trees. "An orchard," the words tumbled out of her lips before she knew it, and she looked around in surprise, knowing that this place looked familiar somehow. The lush green grass swayed to the sweet, summer breeze. The air was filled with a tart smell, and the sweet scent of baked goods in the distant. An apple fell from a tree, landing on the soft cushion of green grass with a gentle thud. She turned to the trail, where it led down to the exit of the orchard, revealing a small cozy cottage just beyond the wooden fence.

The wooden gate was opened, and she went past it. All was silent save for the chirping of birds. The cottage remained still, freed of all activity around it. At one side of the fenced area, was a large plot of land, where all the crops grew. Peas, potato plants and gourds grew in abundance. She cocked her head with a confused stare – was there no one living here?

Then the whistle got louder, and when Shyvana looked out, she saw a figure approaching – a man, by the looks of it. Strong and sturdy, with a pile of firewood bundled together and dragged behind him; a woodcutter's axe resting on his broad, thick shoulders. The sun shone fiercely, and when the man came into her view, the sun's glare reflected off his golden skin, beads of sweat rolling down and soaking his dirty tunic and breeches.

His white hair was close cropped, and his beard occasionally trimmed. His impressive physique was not just for show, as he huffed and hurled the pile of wood upon one shoulder, then throwing them down into a baked clay well just beside the house. When he stood beneath the shadows of the house, only did Shyvana realize that his skin was truly golden, like a sheet of polished gold. When he turned around to wipe the sweat off his forehead, she saw how his eyes were two fiery ambers, just like hers.

Her father.

She approached him sceptically, not knowing what to say. But her father paid her no heed, as though she did not exist. Shyvana stood awkwardly and watched her father work through the pile of wood, throwing out the bad ones that were infested with damp fungus. He whistled as he worked, as though his only worry right now was to stock up for winter. He wasn't worried about his daughter, or the drake that was always after them. He sounded carefree, healthy and happy.

Shyvana blinked her tears away – it had been a long time since she had seen this side of her father: happy and free of worries.

The creak of the wooden door was what caught her attention. She turned abruptly, watching as a woman, very much pregnant, standing at the entrance of the cottage. The woman wore a coif and a loose yellow dress, befitting her glowing smile. She stood basked in the sun's warmth, her hands at her hips as she stretched languidly, her eyes closed and lips curled in a smile full of content. Her prominent stomach stood out, and Shyvana noticed her braided red hair beneath her coif, flowing down her back.

The more she watched, the sadder she got.

"Someone's early," her father chuckled. His deep, baritone voice sounded so young, and Shyvana longed to hear more of it. "I thought you would sleep the whole morning away. Do I smell egg tarts?"

The woman giggled. "If I don't wake up any earlier, who will tend to the crops? And yes, I baked them this morning. How fares the trade?"

"Splendidly," he remarked. He approached her. "Though walking around the market square with my cloak on was a little uncomfortable. How is our little child?" he knelt down and held her stomach, pressing his lips to the bulge. The woman laughed, her voice sweet and mellow to both Shyvana and her father's ears.

"She kicked this morning," she placed her hand over his, caressing her stomach together. "That's how I woke. Feisty little child, she is,"

He looked up at her with an arched brow, slightly confused. "'She'?"

The woman nodded. "A girl. With my hair and your eyes, our pride and joy,"

"But how do you know?"

She looked over her cottage, the billowing smoke from the chimney and the summer's bountiful harvest. A smile brightened up her face, and she simply said, "I just know it. And I've thought of her name,"

Her father's smile broadened, and he remained silent, wanting her to continue.

"Shyvana," she said. "Our child," The man stood and laughed with her, pressing their foreheads together. She did not seem to mind how sweaty he was, and they both shared a kiss, hands still pressed lovingly to her protruding stomach.

Her name – her mother's first gift for her.

Meanwhile, the half-dragon watched as her parents shared an intimate moment from a distance. Had death allowed her to revisit the past? She tried hard to hold back her tears, knowing how her mother would soon come to dislike the child, knowing she could never get what she wanted if she were to ever lay with her father. There was no happy ending.

But she watched them, being happy for now. She did not know how long the vision would play out, or what will happen next. She glanced over the cottage and the orchard full of ripe, juicy apples, the distant horizon of green mountains and lazy sunrise, the small and quiet town not far from their home, now teeming with villagers who had just awoken – all enjoying the long summer that never seemed to end.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice spoke, and the half-dragon turned around. A man dressed in traditional robes stood a few feet behind her, a cowl that concealed his hair but not his white ashen beard that flowed down his chest. His white and gold robes stood out in the lush greenery, and the man took off his cowl, revealing grey, stormy eyes that was not fixed on Shyvana but the couple behind her.

"You can see me," Shyvana said rhetorically.

"Why else would I be talking to you?" the man, though elderly but still elegant and graceful in his gait, scoffed.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who owes his dear brother a debt. And I intend to repay it," he stopped when he was beside her, still looking at the half-dragon's parents. "Oh, how infatuated he was with that human girl. She was quite lovely, indeed, for a human's standard. I have watched this past of his a thousand times, but I still cannot understand how he could give up everything for her. For me, the price is too much,"

Shyvana could not understand, but she remained silent. As he spoke, she realized how familiar his voice was, but she could not tell when or where she had heard it before. The old man noticed her confusion, and spoke.

"Your father was the wisest and smartest among the rest of us. His purpose was to educate and advise so the species survives. Which was why he was gifted the ability to shift into any forms he desired, just so he could adapt to a civilization of any race or species, to teach them.

"We were both as old as time. Unlike terrestrial dragons, we live forever until we have served our purpose completely. And your father just threw it all away when he decided to reside with a human. We were made to serve, not to entertain our own desires and follies. Aurus Signum lost all his knowledge and memories of his own great deeds, and he was punished to forget even more as he aged. When you were born, he could only remember things that happened for the past century,"

Shyvana listened intently. The old man nodded approvingly, seeing how she did not interrupt even though she was trying very hard to understand.

"And they took his gift away," he spoke in sombre tunes. "Not all of it at once, but slowly. Until he could only shift between his dragon and human form. And now you see, he was trapped between his human and dragon form – his golden skin and amber eyes showed. Can you see how his gift was waning? To us, he lost everything. But to him, had he truly lost anything?"

The couple now entered the house, closing the door on them with a thud. Shyvana's eyes turned melancholic, but she had more questions than answers. She turned to the old stranger. "But who are _they_?"

He stared at her, and she found his grey eyes rather unnerving. "The ones who created us and everything else in Runeterra. No one knows who _they _are, yet everyone knows of their existence. Not even Celestial beings know who they truly are. But does it matter? This world is their game. We are just the pieces. They keep the ones who complied, and sacrificed the ones who disobeyed.

"But that does not matter," his gaze turned serious. "I am here to give you a message. And I have little time left. I need to fulfill my deal with your father,"

"What deal?"

"He gave me the knowledge of shapeshifting. But there was so much, so this is the only form I can take," he gestured to his human form. "In exchange, he wanted you to come to me. So come to Ionia, half-dragon. Come to Ionia and seek the Hirana Monastery. There you will find a man named Udyr, and he will do all the rest,"

"And why should I believe you?"

The old man's face twisted in anger, before he let forth a mocking laughter. "I imbued your broken body with strength and called forth a storm though a thousand leagues away, so that you can keep fighting on that ship. And you doubt me? Are you stupid, child?"

Her memories flickered back aboard the _Dead Pool, _when she laid dying after Gangplank had defeated her. She then understood why that voice sounded so familiar.

She shook her head. "But I am dead. The harpoon, I felt it,"

"Nonsense," the old man scoffed. "I thought you knew better, halfwit. If you were truly dead, I wouldn't be here, showing you this vision which I have watched a thousand times,"

Her eyes flared with anger. The old man was oblivious to her glare, and instead snorted with sarcasm.

"Remember. Find Udyr at the Hirana Monastery. Someone as stupid as you are can't forget an instruction as simple as that,"

"If I go to Ionia," she asked. "What then?"

"I'll teach you all you need to know, and see if you're a true dragon. Don't disappoint me, _Shyvana_," he lifted a hand sizzling with power, and Shyvana knew he was going to leave. But she was adamant, and wished to know more.

"At least tell me your name!" she shouted.

His hand gripped her forehead with force. His power burnt into her skull, scorching her skin as she screamed. A dull ache bloomed, before it flared into a throbbing headache, until it turned excruciating and unbearable.

"_Ao Shin,_" he whispered, his voice dangerous and terrifying. "_The Storm Dragon_,"

And all went black.

* * *

She felt the need to gasp loudly when she was finally conscious. The searing headache was gone, but it was so painful it left her heart hammering hard against her chest. But she restrained, and all that left her lips was a soft whimper, nothing more.

Her eyes remained closed, but behind her lids her eyes rolled restlessly. She subtly moved her fingers – a sense of content bloomed in her when her fingers twitched in response. She knew she was lying down, her head resting on something soft. She could feel the gentle rocking of a boat, and she knew the prince and his company still hadn't reached land yet.

Shyvana felt the urge to reach for her stomach, to feel the harpoon where it pierced her back and through her abdomen. She felt it, she was sure of it. Yet, now she laid there, painless and only a little exhausted. The half-dragon heard the wind whipping, and felt the boat rocking more violently. Oddly, she felt no chill. Only warmth.

A hand rested on her forehead, warm and gentle. It stroked gently, fingers running through her hair. She was about to open her eyes, until someone spoke. That voice she recognized, and its owner who was always hateful and condescending.

"Oh, prince," August lamented. His voice was without contempt or sarcasm, only woe. "You are madly in love, are you not?"

A soft sigh. "That is a strong word, August. I'm not ready for that,"

"You know what she is," August said.

"I do,"

"Not just a commoner or a lowlife, but a half-breed,"

"That I know too,"

"Yet you're besotted with her," a slight shifting sound of fabric scraping against wood. Oars still rowed. "From the day you've met her, you've always find her intriguing,"

The prince said nothing.

"You wanted to take her back to Demacia, and it's not just because she's a boon to the military, yes?"

Shyvana's eyelid twitched.

Jarvan did not speak for a long time. "Yes," he admitted, and Shyvana could imagine him looking anywhere but August's eyes, his head hung low in shame.

"Jarvan, my lord," August warned, but it sounded more like a plea. "A prince marries not for love,"

"But for duty," Jarvan finished.

"Remember your duty to the crown, prince. You are the Exemplar of Demacia. If our shining example can't choose his duty over his desires, what would his people think? You are already betrothed to Lady Luxanna Crownguard,"

"An agreement that was made three years after I was born," Jarvan said spitefully. "Lux wouldn't want it either. She's just a child,"

"A child, yes," August agreed. "A prodigious child that was forced into the College. Just like how every other child was forced into the military before they became soldiers. 'Loyalty to the crown before everything else', have you forgotten?"

"I have not," Jarvan protested. "Which is why I am going home, right after I keep my promise to her," his hand caressed her cheek, and she found it rather endearing.

What August said though, strangely, the news did not surprise her. It wasn't enough to enrage her or make her weep, but Shyvana could not shake off an odd feeling that conjured inside her when she heard that news.

The odd feeling which something inside her just withered a little.

* * *

She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke again she opened her eyes without hesitation. The sun's glare met her, and she squinted her eyes as she hastily lifted a hand, shielding her eyes against the light. She yawned.

The half-dragon waited for the dark spots obscuring her vision to slowly fade away, then she looked up. Jarvan sat cross-legged, with her head on his lap and his head lolling to one side, sound asleep. His chest rose and fell with slow, rhythmic breathing. Shyvana could only imagine how uncomfortable his position must be.

She was about to reach out to nudge his hand, until she noticed a stunning golden cloak that covered her. It took her a while to realize it was her own cloak with her father's golden hide, glimmering with thousands of scales. Baffled, she smoothed a hand over the beautiful cloak, her mouth slightly agape with wonder.

Opposite her, Lance rowed, but his back was to her so he did not realize she was awake.

"Jarvan," she nudged his hand weakly. The prince only groaned in his sleep, so the half-dragon shook his hand harder. "Jarvan," she called again.

This time, the prince woke, his eyes still bleary with sleep. He stretched his arms and sighed as his back popped, before looking down and seeing Shyvana staring back at him. His eyes shot wide open, before his lips broke into a grin.

"You're awake," he sounded grateful, and quickly reached for his waterskin. He uncorked it and lifted her head slightly, dipping the skin so she could drink. Shyvana accepted without another word of complaint, letting him help her for once.

Once she was done, she saw how he rubbed his back unconsciously. That movement was very subtle, but she realized how tired he must have been. Then she remembered how he cradled her head in his lap. Were his legs numb as well?

"You look exhausted. Have you been sitting like that for the entire night?" she asked, her voice still weak and soft as a whisper, but the prince heard nonetheless.

"Well, a little," he shifted slightly, but he was careful not to move her head too much. "How do you feel? You've been asleep for two days,"

She frowned. "_Two days?_"

"Aye. I don't know how far away we are from land, but Lance says we're close," the prince drank from his skin as well. "We just have to believe him,"

She did not speak again, watching Jarvan as he looked over the horizon with the sunlight gleaming in his dark hair. His beard was even shaggier than before, and she saw the dark circles beneath his eyes, his blue eyes which spoke of weariness and lethargy. His hand unknowingly stroked her hair, but he did not seem to notice it. Surprisingly, Shyvana did not mind that contact.

"Did you sew the cloak?" she asked. Jarvan blinked quickly as he snapped into attention, their eyes locked onto each other.

"Aye. Your handicraft is shit," he chuckled lightly. "So I fixed it,"

Shyvana shared his humour, and even smiled a little. Perhaps she was too tired to return a snide comment.

"How am I still alive?" she asked. "I couldn't have survived that wound, you and I know that,"

"You were dead," his voice broke slightly as he said that. "Remember the Marai we saved?"

She nodded.

"A whole flock of them surrounded us. The leader thanked us, and they used water magic on you. I didn't think it was possible, but well, here you are – alive and well. There's bound to be a scar, though,"

"It's fine," she sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm not complaining,"

"Prince!" Alfie suddenly called out, his voice filled with excitement. "I see land!"

Jarvan turned to the direction Alfie was pointing, and his eyes widened in awe. Ahead of them, the sea was teeming with activity. Hundreds of merchant ships and trading galleys were docked at the harbour. People walked to and fro on the dock, and even from here, they could hear the buzz of the assemblage of merchants and sailors screaming from their ships.

"We have arrived," Jarvan marvelled.

* * *

They docked at the busy harbour, but far enough from all the ships and sailors just so they could avoid attention. Jarvan's men climbed out of the boat quickly, retrieving their rations and stolen supplies. Jarvan helped the half-dragon out, who protested and insisted she could walk on her own, though there was still a slight limp in her stride.

"Where the hell are we?" August growled.

"I don't know," Lance sheathed his swords at his hips. "But this place is busy and crowded, it's a good sign,"

Jarvan kicked a pebble aimlessly. "We have to know where we are, and how far we are from the Ironspike Mountains. If the drake passed through here, surely the townspeople had seen him,"

"If the drake passed through here," Shyvana said. "He would have razed this town to the ground,"

"Still, we can get tales and gossips from the sailors. And stock up supplies, not to mention my swords need a little sharpening," Lance drew one of his swords, and purposely nicked the edge with his fingers. He grunted with disapproval.

"Perhaps," August agreed, for once. "What if we're on Noxian soil?"

"Then I suggest we be careful," Jarvan removed his armour pieces, arranged them nicely in a sack and wrapped them up. He took out a cloak and wrapped himself with it, once again dressed in commoner's tunic and breeches. "Shyvana and I will have to find a way to sneak into the town, she's bloody all over. She'll attract everyone like moths to a fire,"

"When do we meet up?" August asked.

"First light," Jarvan spoke with a voice that echoed his superiority. "Two days from now,"

All his men looked at him, puzzled.

"After that shitstorm we faced out in the sea, we deserve a bit of a rest. I don't know, spend some time drinking at taverns, or go to the pleasure houses. Just give yourself a break," he said. "Still, don't forget what you're supposed to do. Get me stories that are happening all around Valoran, as much as you can,"

The three men nodded and made off without another word. Jarvan noticed how August looked back at Shyvana with a suspicious glare, but still left them to themselves in the end.

The prince looked back at the half-dragon. "How do you feel?"

Shyvana simply dismissed his concern with a half-hearted wave, and scoffed. "I can walk, thank you very much. Though I would appreciate it if you stop doting over me like I am some damsel in distress,"

"You just got impaled by a harpoon," he shrugged. "Anyway, you look extremely uncomfortable in those bloodied rags, you need a change,"

"And a bath," Shyvana added. "I really need a bath,"

Together they made their way past the harbour, avoiding gazes of occasional passers-by. Shyvana kept her beautiful, golden cloak away, afraid that she may attract the eyes of greedy raiders looking for an opportunity to strike. There was another way into the town, a trail which anyone hardly uses except dogs and badgers. In the distance, a lonely bell rang, and a longhorn sounded, signalling the departure of a ship at the harbour.

The town was small but picturesque – the buildings were of simple yet elegant architecture, painted with soft and gentle hues. Pleasure houses stood out exceedingly with their exaggerating tapestries and flamboyantly coloured beams, with young courtesans at the bright red doors batting their eyelashes to any sailors or wanderers that may pass by. In the centre was the market square, where there were no shop lots but pitched tents and laid out mats instead for merchants from the west and east alike, selling their wares and goods, exotic herbs and spices, beautifully forged arms and all assortments of odds and trinkets. As they passed, Jarvan could hear all kinds of accents and languages, and people dressed in all sorts of outfits from all around Valoran. A small town, yet with such a congested trading hub, the prince had no idea how come he had never heard of this place.

Jarvan purchased a simple tunic and a pair of roughspun breeches for the half-dragon. Shyvana changed promptly, discarding the bloodied rags at a nearby tree and emerged, with a common, black cloak covering her from head to toe, and a cowl that concealed all but her lips.

"Where do we go first? The market square?" she asked. The prince nodded.

"We need to purchase a map. This place is crowded, sure we can get a rough idea of where we are,"

"All I can see are casks of wine and ale," she looked at a wine merchant, who was promoting and pouring cups of wine for his customers to taste.

"We'll have plenty of time for that later," Jarvan took hold of her hand, and together they went deep into the heart of the square. The hot stench of manure and sweat, mixed with scents of herbs and spices wafted about the square. The half-dragon wrinkled her nose, and promptly shut off her draconic senses. Jarvan weaved through the crowd gracefully, whereas she was lagging behind and bumping against passers-by who cursed. She breathed hard, struggling to follow up.

Fortunately, Jarvan noticed that she couldn't catch up, and he quickly pulled her aside, away from the crowd. Shyvana gasped for air, bowing down with her hands on her knees. Jarvan took out his waterskin and gave it to her. He saw how her face was distorted hideously in pain, her hands clutched tightly.

"You're not fine," he chided. "Where does it hurt?"

"Nothing," she wheezed, her breathing rapid and shallow. One hand pressed against her stomach. "Just… a little breathless," her hand squeezed her knee and stomach tightly, and she suddenly retched, coughing up blood. "Fuck," Before she toppled forward, the prince caught her, leaning her weight against himself.

Jarvan held her as she limped towards a tree. "The Marai's magic could only do so much. You're probably bleeding from the inside as we are speaking. You need to rest. I'm taking you to the nearest inn,"

"Just a minute," she wheezed, leaning against the tree trunk. Her eyes were closed. "A minute. I'll be fine,"

"Like hell you are," Jarvan cursed, and carried her with her arm across his shoulders. They limped towards the nearest inn which was away from the hubbub of the town. They reached a poor-looking building that resembled an inn, the faded signboard looking as though it had seen better days. Even the door looked like it was about to fall off its hinges, and inside there was no one but the innkeeper. But Jarvan could not complain much – the last thing they needed was attention.

The innkeeper was a middle-aged man, his face stoic as he wiped the inside of his tankards aimlessly. Jarvan could not see the point, since none of the tables were occupied. Most of the candles were already burnt to stubs, and the place was so run down that the prince was surprised this place could still survive.

"Welcome," the man said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his tankards.

"A room for tonight, please," Jarvan said hurriedly. Shyvana shifted in and out of consciousness, and she started breaking out in cold sweat. "And will you please draw a hot bath? I'll pay,"

"That will cost fifty silver pieces,"

Jarvan pulled out his coin purse, the one that Lance had 'taken' from Gangplank's ship. He tossed it to the innkeeper, and he still did not look up when the purse thudded heavily against the countertop.

"Keep the change," Jarvan mumbled. The old man finally looked up, only to call his son – a young lad dressed in dirty rags, running out and showing the prince his room. The boy looked up at Shyvana curiously, but asked no questions and simply exited the room.

He carried her over to the bed, laying her down. "Shyvana," he called out, which she answered with a weak grunt. "I've ordered a bath, can you stand?"

"I need wine," she croaked, ignoring his question. The boy earlier came in with a large wooden tub, and filled it with steaming hot water. He then exited the room again, this time closing the door behind him. Jarvan looked at the half-dragon, laying on the bed with her face pale as paper. He sighed, and helped her remove her garments.

"Hah," Shyvana mocked. "A highborn prince helps a lowly commoner with her bath, how fitting,"

"Careful," Jarvan warned. "I'm the only one who can help you here," he helped her step into the tub of steaming water, trying his best not to look at her in her nude body. Slowly, he helped her sit, and when she did, she let off a contented sigh.

"Shyvana, don't fall asleep," he pulled a stool over and sat. The half-dragon paid him no heed, her chin just slightly above the surface of the water.

"I'm tired," she whispered. "And the pain…"

He sat beside her, and his concern only grew. "Does it hurt anywhere else?" he asked. But before he could get an answer, sounds of tables and chairs breaking rang the entire inn. A man shouted, followed by a loud explosion. Then, even more shouting.

"Wait here," he told her, which she replied with a grunt. The prince reached for his lance, wrapped in rolls of linen, before heading towards the door. He opened the door a little, peeping through the small gap.

"Goddammit!" the innkeeper yelled. "How many times are you going to run that crazy experiment?! Right under my roof!"

"I paid for the damages, you old cunt!" the sound came from next door. Knowing there was no threat, Jarvan opened the door and stepped out of his room. "And I paid more than you deserve! No one stays in this shithouse anymore!"

"_That's because you chased all my customers away!_"

"Friends," the prince leaned his lance against the wall, and lifted both hands, placating them. "Perhaps we can calm down a little? A friend of mine needs to rest, I'm sure we can come to an agreement,"

"An agreement where he leaves my inn!" the innkeeper growled, pointing an accusing figure at the man in the room, whom Jarvan had yet to see. "He's been here for a _month_! Renting my room for his studies and ridiculous experiments! Every time I tell him to leave, he threatens to blow the roof off my inn!"

"You're overreacting, cunt. It's just a door!" the man kicked a shard of what's left of the broken door, blackened and smoking on the floor. Finally, he walked out of his room, and Jarvan could see the smoke emerging from the inside. But what surprised him was the multitude of tomes, scrolls and books that laid in heaps within the room. In the corner was a small desk littered with tubes and apparatus, and an alembic which colourful chemicals flowed.

"Can't believe a sodden place like this attracted a customer," the man mumbled. "You lost, lad?"

It took him a while to realize he was talking to him, and the prince turned to him. The man was dressed in black mage's robes, his long scrawny beard reaching his chest. Even under the dim light, Jarvan noticed something strange about his skin tones, and he saw whorls and runes tattooed to his skin, from his face to his neck to his hands. Beneath the hood, Jarvan saw his eyes, and he was taken aback when he only saw the whites of his eyes, as though he had no pupils.

"No," he stammered, trying to recollect himself. "My friend was sick, so I came to the nearest inn,"

"Sick?" the man pulled at his beard. "Plagued by an ailment of some sort? A cold? Fever?"

"Badly wounded," Jarvan said simply. "Internal bleeding, most probably. She's very weak right now, she can barely talk,"

"Nothing a good elixir can't fix," the man entered his room again. "Come in,"

The innkeeper fumed, his face red with anger. "You're leaving, at this instance!"

"Oh please," the man simply dismissed his warning. "I can simply blow your rooftop into bits with just a lift of my finger, now if you will excuse me. Go help yourself with those pisswater of yours which you call _mead_,"

Before the innkeeper could argue further, the man lifted a hand swirling with blue magic and chanted. The broken pieces of the door floated and patched itself, before returning to its former shape and attaching itself back to its hinges. Jarvan watched in awe, then the man took off his hood and sighed.

"You're a mage," Jarvan muttered reverently.

"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm the master of the arcane arts," the man puffed his chest haughtily, before heading over to his alembic and drawing the liquid in the tubes. "It's just time-reversal magic, and it would probably wear off in an hour. Worry not, it's more than enough time for me to brew an elixir and conjure a door for that son of a cunt,"

The prince glanced at the herbs and ingredients gathered in a shelf nearby, right below a shelf full of books and almanacs. "I thought alchemy is for the healers and herbalists,"

The mage snorted. "Who said mages can't practise alchemy? Alchemy itself is a mythical art, and magic is combination of science, art and all things mythical. Ask any alchemists, and they would say a little bit of mana energy is needed to brew any sorts of potions. Besides, study alchemy and you can make your own moonshine!"

Jarvan chuckled.

The mage lighted a few candles, brightening the dark room. "That friend of yours," he turned to the prince. "She's half-human, is she?"

The prince's eyes widened, and he quickly reached for his lance. "How do you know? Who are you?"

"A high-levelled mage, lad. I can tell from your auras, and she reeks of something beastly," the mage laughed when he saw how the prince bristled in anger. "Worry not, in their eyes, I'm not human either," he took off his hood, revealing the bald head of a middle-aged man. Jarvan saw how his tattoos covered even his head, and his skin was a dark sheen of blue, almost close to purple.

The prince did not say anything, he simply stared in shock.

"My name is Ryze," the old man reached for a tome nearby, and flipped through the pages rapidly. "Master of the arcane arts,"

"Jarvan," the prince introduced himself.

"Now before I forget," Ryze snapped the tome shut and approached his ingredient shelf. He plucked a few berries and took down the pestle and mortar, then proceeded to crush the berries with skilled hands. "You said your friend was bleeding internally, right?"

"That's what I think, she coughed up blood,"

Ryze nodded, then scraped the paste and placed it in a crucible. He snapped his finger, and a small flame ignited on the bottom of the crucible, heating the paste inside. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"No," Jarvan answered, not saying any further.

Ryze chuckled, he then worked on his alembic, distilling mixtures and combining concoctions. "I presume you're a traveller then? Or a sellsword? If you're leaving anytime soon, don't head north. It's dangerous territory out there,"

"And why would that be?"

"Few days ago, the townspeople had a good scare. Said a giant creature flew past. A dragon or some sort," he shrugged. "I didn't know, I was holed up in this room for days, studying my latest research. Still, best that you be careful if you wish to head north, traveller,"

"A dragon?" the prince's eyes widened with interest.

"That's what they said," Ryze pulled out a flask filled with red liquid. He stoppered it with a rubber cork, and handed it to Jarvan. "Let her drink this. She will feel extremely exhausted after it, but once she's done taking a nap, she should be up and running,"

"Thank you, Ryze. How much is it?"

Ryze scoffed. "How much? Son, I'm not some village herbalist. Take it as a gift. I can be extraordinarily generous sometimes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to conjure a stupid door before the magic wears off,"

* * *

When Jarvan got back to the room, the tub was empty save for the water which had gone cold. The half-dragon laid on the bed, her eyes shut and her lips pale. She did not even bother to dress herself, instead wrapping herself snugly with a towel.

He sat at the edge of the bed and shook her gently. Calling her name a few times, she finally woke, her eyes looking around the room until she finally met Jarvan's.

"You were gone for quite a while," she murmured. "I thought you got kidnapped again. I wanted to look for you, but I was too tired for that,"

"Good thing you didn't, you would make the wound worse," he slid an arm under her neck and pulled her up. Her skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and Jarvan noticed how her head was lolling about. He quickly removed the cork of the flask, and placed the mouth to her pale lips.

"Drink," he whispered. "You'll sleep after this, and you'll feel better,"

It took her a while to finish the whole flask, but drank she did, and she fell into a deep and sound sleep. Jarvan went to the privy and soaked a piece of rag, pressing it against her forehead. He was temporarily assured by the gentle rise and fall of her chest, knowing she would recuperate soon.

The prince sat by the bed, watching her until he felt the need to do something instead of sitting idly. He reached for his lance and used it like a cane, and before he exited the room, he took one last glance at the half-dragon. Sighing, he shut the door behind him, and headed to the market square.

The afternoon was blazing hot, with the sun was at its peak. It wasn't long before the prince was covered in a sheen of sweat, as he weaved through the crowd. He approached a travelling caravan and purchased a map and a compass, then headed to other caravans and tents to buy rations and medical supplies. Satisfied, the prince was about to leave when something caught his eye.

A laid out mat with hundreds of baits on display, and skilfully crafted fishing rods. As though attracted, he approached the trader, inspecting the rods on sale.

Fishing. It brought back fond memories of when he was just a child. Garen, Jarvan and Lux would always run to the lake near Sherwood Forest just outside Demacia, where most of the soldiers went for field training. They would bring along their best rods and baits, and sit by the lake, fishing for hours.

_Those were the days, the peace and quiet,_ he mused. "Good day, sir. How much for a rod?"

"Ten coppers," the trader answered jovially. "Carved and crafted from the finest wood, and strung with the finest thread. Fifteen coppers for both the rod and the baits,"

"I'll have two," Jarvan handed over the coins, and the trader thanked him, giving him two rods and two dozens of baits. The prince then heard the call of the wine merchant, and headed over to buy two flagons, asking the wine merchant for the strongest stuff he had.

By the time he returned to the shabby inn, the sun was already setting. The crowd in the market began to disperse, leaving the traders and merchants packing up their caravans and rolling up their tents, ready to call it a day. When the prince entered the inn, the innkeeper was nowhere to be found, but his son swept the floor, oblivious to his presence. The door to Ryze's room was locked, and Jarvan swore he heard the hum of magical energy. But he paid it no heed and headed to his room.

When he entered the room, Shyvana was already awake and dressed, sitting in a corner and running a whetstone down the edge of her gauntlets. She looked up briefly, and saw all the goods that the prince had purchased.

"Someone's gone shopping," she looked back at her gauntlet and continued grinding her gauntlets. "For a moment I thought you've left me here to starve to death,"

Jarvan could not tell if she was being sarcastic or being serious, so he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "You hungry? Looks like you just got up, how do you feel?"

She nodded. "A little confused, disoriented. Took me a full minute to remember where I was, but I feel invigorated. What did you give me?"

"Does that matter? You're better now," he took out the fishing rods and then turned to her. "Ever gone fishing?"

The half-dragon then stared at him blankly, before narrowing her eyes. "For survival, yes, but usually I prefer a spear. It's much faster," she crossed her arms. "Why, have you used up all your coins? That we have to hunt for our own rations?"

"No," he chuckled, and strummed the string on the rod. "I mean fishing as a _hobby_. Ever done it?"

Shyvana shook her head.

The prince smiled. "Come with me. Got you some wine, too,"

* * *

"Screw this hobby of yours, Jarvan IV," the half-dragon cursed as she reeled in her fishing line, her face distorted in anger as she lost her bait again. The prince only laughed at her, knowing patience was never her virtue. He looked at his basket – two longfins, one deepwater bass and five salmon. It was a good catch.

"Patience, Shyvana," he advised. "The fish can feel your anger,"

"Don't you fuck with me, prince," she snorted, tied another bait, and casted the fishing line out into the sea again. She laid down the rod at the edge of the boat, leaning her back against the side of the ship and taking a sip from her skin of wine. She gave off a relief sigh, enjoying the wine and cool air. "Say, Jarvan. What's the first thing you will do once you get home?"

The prince looked at her, surprised at her question. He thought deeply, before answering. "I don't know. I haven't seen Demacia for so long. I wonder what it looks like now. Are the spires still tall and white? Are the buildings still pristine and elegant, or the palace golden and formidable? Is the plaza at the Commons still filled with auspicious events and extravagant activities?"

"Sounds like those kingdoms in the fables," she commented. "Those stories they tell you when you were a child,"

"It's a magical place," he smiled. "You will love it there, really,"

The half-dragon looked away from the prince's blue eyes, her mind shifting to the moments where she met the old stranger, the one who claimed to be her father's sibling. What was his name? _Ao Shin_? Then she remembered her father's plea moments before he died.

"Before my father died," she shifted uncomfortably. "He wished that I would run to Ionia, to seek peace there. He never wanted me to seek vengeance. It was more of a personal vendetta, really,"

She waited for the prince to say something. But he only prodded her to go on.

"Maybe after we slew the drake, I might decide to head to Ionia. For some peace and quiet,"

"Peace and quiet," Jarvan echoed. "Doesn't sound like you, half-dragon, or the kind of life you would enjoy living in,"

"A boring life is better than a tormented one,"

The prince said nothing. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull croaked in sadness. Shyvana did not want to meet his gaze, for fear that she might give in to his advances, his wish for her to follow him back to Demacia. Part of her was afraid, for she knew she would never be accepted as a Demacian. More so, she did not want to be a distraction to the prince – he had his own duty to fulfil.

_A prince marries not for love, but for duty, _she remembered what August said. _He was already betrothed. To… what was her name again?_

"I want you to come back with me," Jarvan whispered sadly. "But I respect your decision. I can't force you,"

The half-dragon heard the despair in his voice, but she said nothing to comfort him. Because she would give in, _oh, _she would.

"But you're always welcome to Demacia," he looked at her, with his handsome smile and eyes glittering with hope. "When I go home, I'll tell them everything. The story of a half-dragon, who lost everything except her anger and hatred, and how determined she was to hunt down her father's murderer. I'll tell them, how I met you, how bravely you fought, and what a faithful companion you were. There were many chances where you could have left us, but you didn't,"

Shyvana laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe it's because I want to use you for my vengeance? Have you ever thought of that?"

He shook his hand, and held her chin with the tips of his fingers, turning her to face him. She saw the tears in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. "I'll tell them, how she taught me that everyone deserves kindness, not just our own race; how she taught me to love, and to fight for those that matters. I'll tell them, even if you're angry and hateful with the wrath of a dragon, deep inside, you're just as human as anyone of us. I'll tell all of them, my queen mother and my father, the king; Garen and his sweet sister, Lux; Lady Lestara and her dearest daughter; all the noble families and the councillors of Demacia; my tutor, Xin Zhao; and all the people of Demacia. I'll tell them, so when you're at the front gates, they won't see you as a half-dragon or a threat. They will see you as the legendary hero who fought gallantly with their prince, and all of Demacia will take you with their open arms,"

She did not realize she was crying, until she felt her wet cheeks. The prince's breath, so close to hers, their noses almost touching, and she could only see the despair growing in him. Somehow she knew what he was thinking. Somehow he could tell that one day they will part ways, and may never meet again. She wanted to speak, but all that came from her lips was a shaky sob.

"I am not worthy," she croaked, her shoulders shaking. Jarvan had never seen her cry, not like this, and she hated showing him how vulnerable she could be. But the prince said nothing, and only took her in his arms in a silent embrace. They both said nothing for quite some time, only the whistle of the breeze and quiet sloshing as the waves hit the keel of their boat. He pressed his lips to her hair, her forehead, kissing her gently. But the half-dragon only remained silent.

"Are we all?" the prince asked. "Are we all worthy, just because we fight for a cause we deem noble and just, while the others struggle to live? Does life only punish the unworthy ones and reward the worthies? To the world, none is worthy, not you, not I, not anyone else. But in my eyes, you are, and you always will,"

She finally looked up to him, searching his eyes for any signs of falsehood and lies. How could a man love so desperately? She simply could not understand. But she knew what he said was true – he would always have faith in her. For some unfathomable reasons, she felt fear. Fear that she might disappoint him and crush his hopes for her.

"Shyvana," his voice was a whisper. "I want…"

"Please do not tell me what you want," she inhaled sharply. "For I might not be able to give it to you, and I do not want to upset you,"

"I only want to give you something you've always yearned for," he kissed her forehead chastely, his hands holding both sides of her head. "Love. Belonging. Protection. Home,"

"What if I die? What will happen to you? Perhaps you will move on, aye, you have to," she leaned into his touch, releasing a shuddering breath. "I cannot know what happens tomorrow. There are so many things I am afraid of, and I fear what the future brings. I know you'll live on after I die, yes. But if you were killed, I can't bear to live guiltless for the rest of my life,"

"Then don't think about it. For now, we live. Now, just the both of us. Nothing else, just us," their foreheads touched, and Jarvan waited for her silent reply. He only hugged her tighter, sharing their warmth amidst the cool night air.

The half-dragon shuddered, then she took the initiative and leaned in to kiss Jarvan full on the lips. The prince understood, and pressed to her tightly, locking their lips together. Their teeth clicked, their tongues tied together. And they shut themselves from the outside world. There were only both of them, breaths becoming shallower and their passionate heat growing stronger. When Shyvana pulled back to catch her breath, the prince lowered his head and pressed kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. Their hands started groping for each other – her fingers fumbling on his cloak, his hands prying off her gauntlets.

As he peeled off her gauntlets, a thought came to his mind. _Will she protest? Will she feel threatened?_ But that worry dissolved in his mind when she only helped him take off her gauntlets. As he took them off, he was peeling away the cold, hard layer that surfaced her heart. Next, they helped each other undress, Shyvana nearly tearing his tunic apart with her nails.

And now he finally saw _her_, this time without being drunk. Beneath the stars, she was a wondrous sight – the curves and contours of her body outlined by the moonlight, and she was both rough and soft at the right places. Jarvan could see the scars that marred her body, a few that he could identify but several others that were new to him. Underneath those clothes and coldness, was a woman hurt too many times, and so she used anger and hatred to cover her misery.

He sat there, petrified, drinking in the sight of her nudity, and released a breath he did not know he was holding all this while.

Shyvana, however, felt insecure under the prince's electrifying gaze, and shamefully she wrapped her arms around her breasts, covering herself. The wine did not make her bold, and she was suddenly ashamed of herself and conscious of her own identity. But Jarvan held both her arms, and gently but firmly pulled them away.

"Please," he whispered. "You're beautiful. There's no need to hide," He held her shoulders, and slowly pushed her down, until she laid flat on her back, with the prince on top of her. They looked into each other's eyes – his blue met her golden ones. Jarvan then took her hand, and kissed the back of her palm lovingly.

"Can I?" he asked, caressing her cheek gently. He only wanted to love her, but if she did not want this, he would understand.

"Yes," she murmured, the word just a movement of her lips. But the prince understood nonetheless, and kissed her full lips tenderly.

He moved his hips, and they became one.


	21. Chapter 21: Scars

**Chapter 21: Scars**

They made love twice that night, then laid down in the boat, spent, with their chests heaving. They both struggled to take in as much air as possible, their bodies wrapped by the prince's cloak that served as their blanket as well. The prince couldn't help but smile, a stinging pain on his back indicating that the half-dragon had given him a few more scars to tend to.

"You were good," the half-dragon breathed heavily, and chuckled. "You were _very _good,"

"I can tell," the prince leaned on his elbow, looking at her serene face, his finger running up and down her side gently. "We nearly capsized the boat," he flashed a grin, and kissed her fervently. She giggled, biting his lips as he tried to pull back, and then kissed him back harder.

They laid down again, their gazes fixed on the stars right above them. The prince held up his cloak, covering themselves to the chin. They both said nothing for a while, just looking at the heavens above. The seas were a lot calmer compared to what they had just the day before, without the army of the dead or Gangplank's band of pirates hunting them down. Shyvana breathed a short sigh, which Jarvan looked at her, puzzled.

"How long until we have to get back? The fish we caught, it will stink," she turned and looked at him, her eyes a brilliant glow amidst the darkness.

The prince shrugged nonchalantly. "We can just toss them back into the sea, if that bothers you,"  
She sat up, the cloak falling from her and revealing her bare back and breasts to the night air. "No, I'm rather famished right now. Let's not waste a good catch,"

Her back was to the prince, and she reached into the bucket for a salmon. The prince did not respond, just laying down and watching her as she conjured a flame in her palm, grilling the salmon over a slow fire. He took the time to study her back, decorated with three scars – one was a star-shaped scar that stretched at the lower part of the back, and the prince knew that was when the harpoon penetrated her flesh. The other one was a rather large, ugly gash right across her spine, and the smallest scar was situated on her right shoulder, most likely a stab wound. He knew there were a few more scars and treated wounds on her torso, the one which he once stitched and another caused by the harpoon, and a few more he had seen during their lovemaking. Oddly, melancholy brewed in his heart, as though he was hurt for her.

As though acting on its own, his hand reached out and lingered on the largest scar, the one that stretched across her back. He caressed it gently, which she only grunted while biting morsels of flesh off the grilled fish. He knew it was a very personal question, but he was curious, and risked it anyway. "This one," his touch was soft like his voice, just above the scar. "What happened?"

Shyvana did not look back or speak, only ate her meal silently. It wasn't long before all that was left in her hand were bones, which she tossed out into the sea. She remained silent, looking out into the sea, refusing to lay back down with the prince.

"A fight with the drake, back when I was a child," her voice carried far across the waters, calm and solemn. "He threw me across the forest and I slammed against a boulder, while I was in my dragon form. Had I been in my human form, my spine would have snapped. Fortunately, it was just a scratch,"

"Doesn't look like a scratch to me," he mused.

"Of course it doesn't to you," The half-dragon snorted. "Just like to dragons, your weapons are merely toothpicks,"

Jarvan only chuckled. "Feisty," he sat up and wrapped his arms around her. She was warm, prompting the prince to hug her tighter. The half-dragon gave an exasperated sigh and relinquished, leaning back into his broad chest. He kissed the scar on her shoulder, which she laughed.

"Do you plan to kiss my scars all night? They won't fade, somehow,"

"Perhaps," he whispered in her ear, his voice sultry and thick with passion. "I want to know more about you," he murmured.

_Before we have to leave and never see each other again_, but the prince said nothing.

"Fine then," she laughed again. They leaned back down onto his cloak, their faces so close to each other the prince could simply point out the tiny scales that covered her face, and how her pupils dilate and narrow as she studied his face. Their noses touched, briefly. "Which _scar_ would you like to know?" she asked, and he could see the glint in her eyes, reflecting the moonlight.

"You sure?" the prince then noticed a faint scratch on her cheek, just a fine line that would go unnoticed unless one sat very close to her. "I don't wish to bring back unpleasant memories,"

"Jarvan," her voice was low, but he could sense the underlying threat in her words. "I am not one to be pampered with. They are just scars, a bad memory or two won't break me down into tears,"

The prince nodded, and allowed himself to touch the faint line on her cheek. Somehow, his guts told him that it was not caused by an accident, but someone who intended to hurt her. The emotions conveyed through her heated stare only confirmed his suspicions, and without a word she knew what he was going to ask.

"Bel'Zhun," she answered. "Bounty hunters wanted to capture me and hand me over to the drake. They thought they would do the town a favour, so the drake wouldn't burn the place to the ground. My father refused, and one of them tried to take me down with a crossbow. I dodged, but the bolt grazed my cheek,"

"And the bounty hunters?"

"Dead," the glow in her eyes grew dimmer. "The drake came to the town, and burnt them with his breath. My father and I barely escaped. After that, we never stayed too long in a city or town,"

The prince said nothing, only staring at her silently. To this, she was grateful. She was afraid that he may ask questions that she simply could not answer. His stare was so intense that she had to draw away. Afraid that he may feel rejected, the half-dragon ducked her head and tucked herself under his chin.

"What about you?" she murmured, her lips leaving a trail of kisses down his throat. "I'm sure you have your own fair share of scars. Or do you call it battle spoils?"

He chuckled. "They are nothing to be proud of," he took her hand and guided it to his chest, her fingers grazing a rough patch of skin situated just two inches next to his heart. "This one nearly took my life. My men and I were at the Great Barrier, fighting a Brambleback,"

"A Brambleback?" she chortled.

He nodded. "With all my twelve men back then. I was a green boy, I knew nothing. And this beast was the first I encountered, the first and last I underestimated. I charged in blindly and we fought gallantly. My, oh my, how I've truly underestimated it,"

She said nothing, so he continued. "It took down two of my men easily, and heavily wounded another before its thorns pierced me, right here," her palm pressed against the scar on his chest. "I bled heavily. Kevan landed the killing blow, and my men quickly took me to the nearest town to be nursed back to health. So all that was left was an ugly scar, as a constant reminder of my pompousity and stupidity,"

"Sometimes we learn through the hard way," her body radiated warmth, and the prince just sighed with comfort, not even bothered slightly by the cold breeze. "It hurts like shit, but at least we learn,"

"At least we learn," he agreed, his tone suddenly turned sombre and unhappy. Shyvana must have sensed it, for she looked back up at him and kissed him on his cheek.

"You haven't answered me. How much time do we have left?"

He scoffed. "It's the middle of the night, we have until dawn. What's the hurry?"

The half-dragon did not answer, and silence permeated through the air, until she broke it with a quiet whisper. "The night will end,"

The prince could sense the melancholy in her voice, her unwillingness to leave, thus he shared her sadness as well. He tightened his hold around her body, and sighed. "Everything ends,"

Shyvana pursed her lips. "I was awake when you and August spoke back on the boat,"

If Jarvan was surprised, he did well at hiding it. The half-dragon looked up to him to see that his eyes were fixed in a distance, thinking deeply. There was a long pause before he spoke, "I know. I saw how your breaths were uneven. I knew you were awake. How much did you hear, though?"

"Enough to know. That you are promised to a girl called..." her voice trailed away, as she struggled to recall her name.

"Lux," Jarvan filled her in. "Her name is Lux,"

"Do you love her?" her tone was monotonous and flat, yet those words concealed a myriad of emotions.

"Like a sister," he muttered, and he knew his answer was true. Lux had more innocence than anyone else he had ever met, and he did not know if she knew of their betrothal. After all, Jarvan III only told him when he was of age, before he entered the Demacia military. But he did not break the news to her, for he knew that she would be upset even though she would oblige to do it as her duty. Nevertheless, the prince knew she would never be happy.

Shyvana snorted. "What does that even mean?"

"Lux is Garen's sister. We played together when we were children. Garen is the prime of the Demacian Military, whereas his little sister... she's a prodigy. She was the youngest in the College of Magic, and she aced all her grades, even better than her seniors. When she was at her sophomore year, she had already mastered all schools of magic, and she was given the chance to research rare magicks. From there, she learnt to be a light mage,"

"Sounds like a bright person,"

"She is,"

Shyvana then had a picture in her mind – a young girl, obviously a foot shorter than Jarvan, dressed in elegant white dresses and cute shoes. But that image was incomplete, and her curosity was boundless.

"How does she look like?" she asked, wanting to complete the picture in her mind.

"She had golden hair," he described, his hand running up and down her naked back, caressing her scars tenderly. "And bright, laughing blue eyes. She is much fairer than Garen, and petite in size. Her voice is shrill but gentle. And, _oh_, she was such a happy child,"

"'Was'?"

"I was there when she enrolled in the College of Magic, at the age of nine," the half-dragon looked up to him, and saw how he winced at the sheer thought of that memory. "Garen did not want to see, it was too much for him. She shouldn't be enrolled until she was twelve. Lux deserved a childhood, like any other kids. But her mother thought otherwise. I saw her crying, saying she didn't want to be there. Her mother reprimanded her and dragged her into the college. That was the last I have seen of her. Whatever that is left of her after her graduation, it won't be innocence,"

"My, my," Shyvana tutted. "Do duty and honour come before everything for you Demacians?"

"Some things you would never understand," he rebuked. "Are you angry? About this... betrothal?"

Shyvana said nothing, her body was calm and still in his arms, and Jarvan could not see her face. She was probably seething right now, ready to throw him off the boat for not telling her sooner, for taking advantage of her.

"You have the right to be angry," he suddenly felt conscious of himself, that he did not deserve her. His arms loosened around her, ready to draw back. "I should have told you sooner. I apologize if you feel that I have deceived you –"

"No," she interrupted. "I'm not angry. I should have known. Of course a prince like you would be promised to someone else of a similar social class. I'm barely a commoner. I should have known,"

"Shyvana – "

"_Don't_," she hissed. "Do not say something you will regret, Jarvan IV,"

He stopped. She only referred him by that name if she would brook no argument.

"I should have seen this coming. I don't stand a chance," she tried her best to sound flat and blunt, but the prince heard the slight crack in her voice. "After all these, we will part ways. We won't see each other again, ever. Do your duty, prince. And I'll do mine by staying as far away as possible,"

"Shyvana," he whispered, his voice harsh and pained. He looked down at her, her arms and body still pressed firmly against his chest. When he saw her face, his eyes widened with surprise, and he brought his thumbs to her cheeks to wipe the tears away. "Are you weeping?"

"N-no!" she shook away his touch and moved away from him, trembling slightly, and threw her hand over her eyes, covering her face from the prince's sight. "It's nothing worth crying for, it's just..."

He only stared. She drew further from him, and withdrew to herself, refusing to let him see her face. However, her shoulders shook violently from her sobs, but the prince did not comment.

"I'm not angry," she admitted. "It's just... every time I've come so close to have something I want..." a gasp, then she continued. "I just can't _have it_,"

He heard her gritting her teeth. Then her shoulders stopped shaking, but her hand was still draped over her face. The prince smiled sadly.

"But for now," his voice was sweet and gentle. "You have me,"

"The night will end. Everything will end,"

"Nothing lasts forever," he agreed. "Which is why we must make every moment count," he reached out to her and hugged her again, expecting her to protest and pull away. Shyvana did nothing of the sort, nor did she return his embrace.

"Tonight," she promised. "Just for tonight, we'll have each other,"

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and said nothing. They stared into the darkness, relishing in each others' warmth as they dreaded for dawn to come.

_You are all I need_, he wanted to tell her, but he could not hurt her anymore. So he only joined her in the silence, wishing that the night would never end.

* * *

"The Ironspike Mountains stretch from Freljord to the edge of Noxus," Jarvan quipped. "We need to narrow down the search, if we were to search for every mountain, we'll never find the drake,"

"Don't you worry," Shyvana said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The drake will find us," she stabbed a bacon with her fork, chewing as she washed it down with a swig of ale. The prince narrowed his eyes as she remained indifferent, and soon he felt his frustration peak.

"I'm being serious here, Shyvana,"

"So am I," she slammed down her fork and glared at the prince. "Not that I have a solution, do I?"

The loud thud of the metal fork against the wooden table rang throughout the empty inn, but no one except the prince and the half-dragon was there to hear it. When they reached the inn, the town was already half-awake, and when they entered the inn, the innkeeper was already lighting the candles.

"You said that drake's blinded," Jarvan said, drawing markings on the map, outlining the possible trail of the wounded drake.

"His hearing is still acute, and so is his sense of smell. Unlikely that he will leave a trail,"

"Or perhaps we can lure him,"

"That drake isn't stupid," she grunted. "If we can lure him out, it's because he is in full health, and he will overpower us,"

The prince stroked his chin as he thought deeply, his eyes stayed on the map. The range of Ironspike Mountains was just as it was named – its mountains and hills were topped with jagged and sharpened peaks, and the tallest was always concealed by a faint veil of dust. The range began in the deep snowy lands of Freljord, bordered Zaun and Noxus and ended at the far end of Valoran. Beyond the mountain range was the capital of Piltover and Zaun, whereas in its deepest end was the coldest region of Freljord, where the brave Freljordians had often called it the Cursed Lands, the land that was always plagued by the storm, the Gelid Vortex. No man had ever gone to the far end of the Ironspike and returned alive.

"Can dragons withstand the cold?" Jarvan looked up to Shyvana, and asked.

"They do have a certain resistance to it. Dragons are beings forged from fire after all, they can warm themselves with their own heat," she took another bite from her meal. "However, the cold will numb their senses, allow them to hibernate for years. There's a possibility he may have gone there to lick his wounds,"

Jarvan wiped a hand over his forehead, his eyebrows creased in a frown. _If he had gone deep into the Freljord, there's no hope for us. We can't fight in the cold._

"If he has gone to the Cursed Lands..." the prince's voice trailed away. He then thought of the tribes in Freljord, and he remembered stories of the great leaders who led their tribes to slay beasts and monsters, despite being weighed down by the elements. He then thought of the Queen of the Avarosan tribe, whom he heard was a just and fair queen that resided in the palace of Rakelstake, of how she had invited his father warmly into her halls during her daughter's birth. He had heard of stories of how she would not turn down a man, that she would offer help no matter the cost.

"Perhaps we can turn to the Avarosan Queen for assistance," he spoke suddenly, surprising Shyvana. The half-dragon gave him a confused stare, as though she had no idea who he was speaking of. "The Avarosan tribe is one of the largest in Freljord. My father had gone to Rakelstake once to seek neutrality with the Queen. Should the need arises, we can seek their help. The Freljordians are fantastic trackers and hunters,"

"We do not even know if the drake has gone there," Shyvana retorted. "And this Queen, whoever she is, have you met her?"

"No," Jarvan said sheepishly. "But my father has –"

"Your father met her, not you. How can you trust someone whom you had never met before?"

The prince opened his mouth to answer, before someone else behind them cut in. "If you are to head to Freljord at this time of the year, you will never survive,"

Jarvan turned behind, and met Ryze's eyes. He only wore a simple black mage's robe, but the hood was not pulled over his head, revealing his white tattoos and blue skin, with his scrawny beard.

"Who are you?" Shyvana's lips curled in disdain and irritation. "And why do you care?"

"Shyvana," Jarvan stopped her before she could say further. "This is the man who brewed the elixir for you, Ryze," he introduced, and saw how Ryze remained silent, as though waiting for him to continue further. And so the prince cleared his throat and continued reluctantly. "... And master of the arcane arts. And this is my friend, Shyvana,"

"Mind if I take a seat?" he did not wait for an answer and simply sat down anyway, his eyes fixed on the half-dragon from under the hood. Shyvana only glared, willing him to look away, which he didn't.

"You were saying, Ryze?" Jarvan asked.

"Now is not the time for travellers like you to head to Freljord," Ryze simply took Jarvan's mead and sipped without asking, but the prince pretended not to notice. "The Gelid Vortex will be at its strongest, and vicious snowstorms and avalanches rage across the nation. Even Freljordians cease hunting at this time. You won't survive if you were to go there,"

Still, the prince was adamant. "There must be a route that leads to Rakelstake. It's a large kingdom, surely they won't turn us away?"

Ryze snorted. "I'm not sure if the Avarosan are as friendly as before, friend. The Queen died in a war recently. Freljord is in turmoil,"

Shyvana looked up. The dumbfounded look on Jarvan's face was impossible to miss.

"And they put a fifteen year old girl on the throne, _bah_!" Ryze took another swig of mead. "If this girl is still soft with dreams of childhood, she will be killed within a month! The Avarosan tribe will fall! Then Freljord will be in shambles!"

Jarvan sighed. "Then there's no way we can head north. We will probably die before we find the drake,"

This time Ryze stared at the prince with eyes wide as saucers, not even bothering to hide his surprise. "The drake that flew past this town a few days ago. You want to track that beast down?"

Suddenly Shyvana was interested, and she leaned forward. "You've seen him? How was he?"

"Oh, huge he was. Still he was no larger than a dragon. When he flew past, he made a moaning sound, as though injured," Ryze saw how Shyvana's eyes winked with intrigue and excitement, and so he arched an eyebrow. "His wings were dark as night. He was heading north, obviously to the Ironspike Mountains, but I have no idea where. Now why would you wish to find this beast?"

Jarvan and Shyvana locked eyes for a moment, sharing their thoughts silently. Then the prince turned to Ryze, the mage who was somehow unaware of his true identity. But he knew that the mage was powerful enough to delve deep into his mind to know every single thing about him, and there was no use lying. Still, Jarvan decided to play the risks, preferring not to trust anyone even though he had helped them.

He chuckled lightly. "Some things are best remained as secret, my friend. Let's just say that it's a man's wish to see a dragon, and it would be a true wonder if I manage to watch him and his behaviour closely. A foolish endeavour, no doubt you may think, but it means a lot to us as travellers,"

"Travellers? From where do you hail from, young ones, for you to have such a deathly wish?"

"Shurima," Shyvana cut in, her lie as smooth as it could be. "We have traversed the Sai region and visited the Rakkor village. Nothing could be worse than a drake,"

Ryze sucked air through his teeth, nodding like he was truly impressed. "The youngsters these days are so brave. Don't mind me, Jarvan, but can I ask a question?"

The prince nodded.

"Travellers, you said," he took another sip from his mead, this time finishing it and leaving the empty tankard upon the table. "I have heard of tales of a unique, half-breed, born of a dragon father and a human mother, who was marked for death by the dragonkin. Have you, by any chance, heard of it?"

Across the table, the half-dragon tensed, and Jarvan felt how the room was suddenly a lot warmer and more humid. Frantically, he cut in, but tried his best to maintain his calm composure. "I don't think we had, is it the same drake?"

"I wonder," Ryze shifted in his seat. "I mean, travellers heard plenty of stories," his gaze turned to Shyvana, who tried to hide under her hood. "Right, _half-dragon_?"

Shyvana's grip on the tankard clenched, and the metal ear grew red-hot. Jarvan's fingers sneaked across the bench, silently reaching for his lance that was hidden in rolls of linen and bandages.

"She may be half-beast as you said, my friend," Jarvan agreed. "But I think you had the wrong person. I'd never heard of the tale that you've told, perhaps you can kindly enlighten me about it?"

"Either you are lying to me or this creature is deceiving you, lad," Ryze snapped, his tone quickly turning venomous. "Say, your name is Jarvan, lad? With a name like that, why haven't the Noxians captured you and executed you yet? Any Noxian with the right mind, no matter how far from the mainland, would never name their child after their enemies,"

Jarvan opened his mouth to retort, before Ryze flashed a wicked, triumphant grin. At that moment, Jarvan knew he had made a huge mistake.

"Unless you are the lost prince of Demacia, aye?"

At that moment, many things happened at once.

Shyvana roared and leapt across the table, her hands ablaze and reaching for Ryze's robe. Jarvan grabbed his lance and tried to remove the weapon from its bindings. Then, strangely, a loud explosion occurred, blasting through the windows and the doors of the inn, nearly blowing the wall to pieces.

But the windows and doors, blown to bits, froze in mid-air, the debris floating and the clouds of smoke and fire remained static. Shyvana was in mid-air as well, her eyes full of rage and her mouth agape with mock fury, her face as ferocious as an angered beast. Jarvan saw all this happening before him, and he was conscious of it. However, his hand remained around his lance, and though he commanded his muscles to move, they would not budge.

Everything was frozen, even time, but Ryze stood up and patted his robe as though it was a normal occurence, puffing his chest out as his ego swelled tenfold. "Can't believe it work," he placed a small artifact on the wooden table, and it emitted a strange aura that surrounded the prince and the mage, but not Shyvana. He wanted to speak, to shout, to attack, but he could do neither of those and only stare at him helplessly.

"Took me a while to set up the trap, I was wondering when you would notice. Time-manipulation magic is always so hard to master, and usually leaves the caster sick for a week. But I suppose a little mead always help," he shrugged, admiring the green aura he had created and the magic he had casted. "And to freeze time and cast paralysis at the same time? My, my, I truly am the master of the arcane arts,"

Jarvan tried to speak, but all that came forth from his throat was an animalistic grunt.

"We haven't much time. Only 5 minutes. And you, Prince Jarvan Lightshield, Fourth of His Name. If you wish to live and save that half-dragon, you'd best listen to me. But why listen to a rogue mage who just paralyzed you, hmm?"

"What...," he grunted. "d..did.. give... to her?"

"An elixir," Ryze answered. "Which healed all her wounds inside and confirmed my suspicion. I gave her the spinerot, a herb for the dragons but poison to other species. If she survived drinking the elixir, then she is truly the half-dragon. I am not a fool, prince. When I saw you, I knew who you are. You are wary, aye, suspicious of everyone around you, which only makes me want to pry open your skull and know all your dirty little secrets,"

Jarvan bristled in rage. The rogue mage laughed.

"Gregori Hastur was right," Ryze spat. "Oh, how I wish he was wrong. That old man sickens me. And yes, prince. Your half-dragon is a wonderful prize. The Gray Order would find her a splendid specimen. They were right, and now they are coming for her,"

The prince's heart sank with fright. And Ryze must have noticed it, for his eyes were filled with temporary sympathy before he tutted piteously. "But Gregori knows where the drake is. If you think it's worth the risk, I don't know, it's your game. Either way, I am getting out of here. I don't wish to listen to that old man's ramblings," he lifted his hands and muttered a chant, his hands moving in odd gestures. Moments later, a rift opened before him, and dust swirled inside the aura he had casted around the prince and himself.

"Whatever it is, Prince Jarvan, get that half-dragon out of town. The drake will end up destroying every cities and towns she has visited. I like this place. Don't get it burnt to the ground for no reason," he snorted, and then snapped his fingers. "You have 5 seconds," then he simply walked into the rift, and the rift closed without leaving any trace.

The aura around him collapsed immediately, the small artifact on the table suddenly shattered by an unknown force and disappeared. Then the explosion continued and blew Jarvan off the floor, and Shyvana crashed into the bench where Ryze had been just 5 minutes ago.

"What the fuck?!" the half-dragon exclaimed in confusion and anger.

"We've been ambushed!" Jarvan roared. "Get out of here!"

A spark of lightning zapped across them, barely singeing Shyvana's nose. They looked to the door, now blasted to nothing and leaving a rather huge opening, and standing there were three men all covered in grey robes, their faces concealed and leaving only their eyes visible.

One of the grey men conjured a white glowing orb in between his palms, then threw it at Shyvana. The half-dragon anticipated the attack, and quickly rolled aside to dodge it. However, the innkeeper just appeared from his kitchen after hearing the commotion, and unfortunately the orb smashed right into him.

The innkeeper screamed as the orb hit him, snaring him in place with runes that seared to the wooden floorboards as he jolted uncontrollably, like he was having a fit. Shyvana and Jarvan stared in shock. The grey man conjured another orb, ready to capture the half-dragon.

"_Run!_" Jarvan pushed her, and they hopped over tables as more orbs crashed into random furniture. The grey men ran after them in hot pursuit, as they both exited the inn through the back door and ran as fast as they could.

"Who are they?" she panted. "Where is Ryze?"

"Just... run!" he grunted and sprinted, his legs pumping furiously. "The market! Head to the market! Blend in with the crowd!"

They ran ahead, quickly losing the grey men but struggling to find a crowd. Oddly, there was no one around them, and Jarvan had his suspicions, until Shyvana crashed into something invisible and bounced back, falling onto her rump.

"Shit!" he slammed a fist into the air, and just as he thought, his fist collided with a barrier. They were trapped.

Out of nowhere, grey men surrounded them from all direction, until their backs were to the invisible barriers. The air crackled with raw energy, and Jarvan knew that these men were no mere novice mages. They were adepts and were capable of killing should the need arises.

Then, a tall, gaunt man stepped through the circle formed by the grey men. He, too, wore a grey robe, but his long, white hair was worn in a pony-tail, and his cheeks were so hollow Jarvan wondered if this man had eaten at all. The tall man placed his hands behind him, his eyes studying the prince and the half-dragon closely.

Jarvan did not need to guess to know that he was Gregori Hastur, the man that Ryze had warned them to run from.

"I guess we have to fight our way out of here," Shyvana furiously spat blood onto the ground. She lifted her gauntlets, liquids of flame pouring from her blazing hands. Jarvan brandished his lance, ready to summon his Golden Aegis.

The tall man's face was stoic and emotionless. He kept staring at Shyvana, before moving his eyes to the prince. Jarvan then felt cold pinpricks on his neck, suddenly fearing what this man could do. His stare was harsh and intimidating, and as though provoked, Jarvan swiftly summon his shield around himself and Shyvana.

The half-dragon turned to him, confused. Their assailants did not attack, only remained at their spots with their spells ready. The tall man smirked, just a slight curl at the corner of his lips.

He then lifted his hand, and closed his palm into a clenched fist. And the prince's shield shattered against his will, leaving them exposed.

Then the grey men cast their spells, all aiming at the half-dragon. Shyvana summoned fire to protect herself, but the spells that were hurled towards her passed through her flames easily and struck her. She screamed and fell as rune circles were shaped and seared into the soft ground beneath her, binding her to their will.

The prince lifted his lance and charged towards the tall man. He simply gestured with ease, and a rune was conjured before the prince and formed a white prison around him, snaring him to the spot and leaving him trapped.

"Leave her alone!" he shouted, struggling to get past the prison.

But he did not answer, simply looking at him with a glare that left him helpless and worthless. Jarvan watched as the grey men closed in around the trapped half-dragon until he could no longer see her. Then she screamed, and his heart plummeted and his blood curdled with fear.

"Please, leave her. She has done nothing wrong," the prince pleaded. Still the tall man watched. The smirk was gone from his face, but his cold eyes were so unsettling, as though he wanted the prince to know that he won.

The tall man simply looked at him with an uncaring gaze. "That is not for you to decide," his tone was flat, his voice monotonous and emotionless. Then he chanted a spell and pressed a thumb forcefully to the prince's forehead.

Jarvan gasped in pain, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

* * *

When Jarvan woke, his hands and ankles were bound in chains, and he had to squint against the bright light that almost blinded him. He narrowed his eyes, studying his environment only to see immaculate white walls around him. Nothing else. Only clean white walls, and the cot which he was sitting on.

A figure stood before him, who was obviously a woman. Her frame was small and petite, wearing a demure grey dress that complimented her curves. Her small hands were held in front of her, and when the dark spots had faded from his vision, Jarvan saw how her face was not concealed like the rest of her colleagues. From this, the prince wondered how exposed and vulnerable she would feel, but from the look of her face, she seemed rather comfortable with herself, and also knew when the prince would awake from his restless slumber.

"Good day, Prince Jarvan," the lady spoke, her unsettling smile never leaving her face. Her hair was dark brown, tightly pulled back and wrapped in a bun. Her eyes were black and expressive, as though full of secrets and knowledge that she would never share with the world. Her voice, melodious, but beneath there hid a deadly undertone, that she was capable of threat just as offering a truce.

The prince chose not to answer. His lips were curled in an ugly grimace, assessing this woman to see what she was made of.

"I know Gregori has used severe methods to capture you and the half-dragon, to the extent where you might strongly disagree," she approached the prince. "But I hope you understand, that it is for the best,"

"For the best interests," Jarvan corrected. "For yourself and this... _Gray Order_,"

She arched an eyebrow, otherwise she did not seem intimidated or surprised. "I suppose you have met Ryze, then? But our interests are not in the likes of a coward who strokes his pride calling himself the 'master of the arcane arts'. Perhaps you are right, it is for _our _best interests, after all,"

Jarvan remained silent. If you talk too much, you tend to let slip information that should have been kept a secret. And he won't make the same mistake twice.

"We are the Gray Order. Neither good, nor wicked. Neither black, nor white. We use whatever methods to reach our goals, be it dark magic or necromancy. But we do it to oppose the darker means of the Noxian High Command, whose ill use of sorcery threatens to bring this country to downfall,"

"If you think I care about Noxus' welfare –"

"Of course you don't," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You're a Demacian prince, you'd rather that the snakes of Noxus bite their own tails. I'm telling you this to make you understand that although we may use horrible means to achieve something, but our goals are for the better. And we are in dire need of your friend's help,"

"Shyvana won't help you," Jarvan gritted his teeth in anger. "You took her against her will, by force. She will not take it lightly,"

"Well, you're not wrong," the woman stood, her grace never diminishing from her small frame. "Not unless you've heard our purpose,"

The prince kept quiet again, urging her to continue.

"We've been tracking her down for months, ever since we've heard the tales of a half-dragon. Gregori was never one to believe in rumours told by peasants, but he decided to pay attention to this one. He was very desperate,"

"Then he should have been kinder with us," the prince said disdainfully.

The woman took him no heed. "Your friend's fire-manipulation abilities are impressive. Is it an innate ability, or did she develop it as she grows? Is she immune to fire, or just has high resistance to it? We mages are masters of fire-destruction magic, but even so we risk burning ourselves if we're not careful. Yet your friend just surrounds herself in flames and charges head on into the battle, like it was a part of her,"

A cold feeling conjured in his gut, and he inhaled sharply. "Have you been studying her?"

"No," her voice was firm, and this time her smile changed into something more malicious and unkindly. She leaned forward, her intense glare staring into the prince's blue eyes. "I've been scrying through Ryze's eyes, and used clairvoyance to know everything about you both. I know you have dabbled with magic, but only enough for a few low-level spells. That half-dragon, however, she is a unique creature,"

"Scrying?" Jarvan asked, his eyebrow arched in confusion.

"A psychic technique developed by myself," she explained, but there was no pride in her tone, only seriousness. "Perhaps you may call it astral projection, or something similar. I simply entered Ryze's conscience and watched and heard everything from his perspective. It didn't last long, obviously. That old, sarcastic shrew knew I was prying into his mind, long enough for him to weave his own plan, or else we could have caught him.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying, we are immensely impressed by your friend's fire-manipulation ability, and her inborn gift to morph into the form of a dragon at will. Had our situation not been so dire, we wouldn't have taken you both by force. But Gregori and I need your help,"

"If it involves Shyvana being harmed, I'm against it,"

She chuckled. "Nothing so cruel, prince," then her smile died, as she gestured to cast a spell. "But our daughter needs her help,"

* * *

When Shyvana woke, her whole body was bound to a metal chair – straps and belts confined her wrists and ankles, then strapped across her chest and hips, rendering her immobile. Her eyes darted around, scanning the room with its four unblemished white walls, and something unnatural radiated from the room. She had a sinking feeling that this room was not what it seemed, and there were people beyond the walls who could see her even though she couldn't – studying her, knowing every bit about her.

She did not bother using her flames to scorch her way out of this room. They were probably expecting her to do that, and whatever trap they had laid out for her, she did not intend to stupidly fall into it. So, she remained still, her eyes still looking left and right, up and down the chamber, looking hopelessly for a route to escape.

Growling in frustration, she let her anger seep into her mind, bringing forth her dragon senses. Her eyes, which were a dim amber, suddenly glowed bright orange and then turned golden with her pupils narrowed, and suddenly it was as though the room was ten times brighter. Her ears twitched, at first hearing only her breathing, and now she could even hear her own heartbeat and the blood flowing in her veins. Shyvana closed her eyes – whoever was out there was probably watching her discretely. She listened carefully, hearing for any signs of movement or odd sounds beyond the four walls.

Strangely, she heard nothing. Sighing in defeat, she was about to shut out her dragon senses and probably get some sleep to pass the time, until she felt someone reaching out for her. She froze, goosebumps rising on her arms and the hair on the nape of her neck suddenly standing. The feeling felt foreign, and indescribable, as though someone's mind was connected to hers, and it was against her volition.

Knowing that it was probably one of the mages taking a peek into her head through telepathy, Shyvana jolted in fear and defiance. She struggled to pull out, even summoning flames involuntarily as if it would burn her perpetrator, but the link was strong, and she was no mage to simply avoid being mind-read.

She stopped struggling when a picture conjured in her mind's eye. Her eyes were shut, but she could see the image vividly. It was the picture of a rather colourful room, a nursery perhaps, where there was a crib to the corner with dangling stuffed animals above it, throwing bright flashes of light that would excite any toddler. On the floor was a hundred other toys, and amidst the sea of stuffed toys, was a baby girl, probably two years old, with wisps of brown hair and a bright flashing smile, as though she saw something to her liking. Her bright green eyes twinkled, and in her hands was a cute, stuffed elephant, drenched with drool. She sat cross-legged, her stubby little legs wriggling with excitement as her tiny arms flailed aimlessly.

Shyvana would have been less worried, if the baby hadn't been looking and smiling at her.

_Perhaps this is their trap,_ Shyvana reasoned. _A vision planted in my mind, meant to trick me into spilling all my secrets and information. Very clever._

The baby giggled at her, her tiny, chubby hands reaching out for Shyvana and dropping the stuffed animal in the process. She babbled and spoke random gibberish, to which Shyvana grinned amusingly, despite her grim situation.

Then the child mumbled one word, unclear but still unnerving to Shyvana. "Drakon," she giggled again. "_Shee-wanna,_" and hearing this, Shyvana's smile died.

"What are you?" Shyvana's lips moved silently, without her knowing. As though understanding her, the baby giggled happily again. Her little fists flailed wildly, still desperately reaching out for her.

"Shee-wanna," she said again, repeating that word over and over again. The half-dragon knew the child was calling her, but she had no idea whether the child was merely a trick conjured by the mages, or if this telepathy was simply linked by mistake.

And if it was the latter, it meant this child had just established a telepathic connection with a random stranger, and read her mind like it was an opened book. This child, who was probably just two years old.

"Who are you?" the half-dragon asked again, this time afraid. The idea of a two-year-old child mind-reading her was just absurd, and at this point Shyvana was very convinced that the mages had set her up to this. However, she still could not shake away her fear and disbelief, and she was too terrified to feel embarrassed by her fear of an illusion of a toddler.

Before the child spoke gibberish again, the door to the nursery opened. A woman stood in the doorway, with her dark brown hair pulled back and a modest grey dress. The baby turned toward the woman, and babbled jovially at the sight of her.

_Mother_, a single conscious word rang in Shyvana's mind, even though she had never seen this woman before. It was as though the word was projected into her mind, a message transferred by someone outside her mind's domain.

The woman grinned and cooed at the baby, and she knelt down to pick her up. She then noticed how the babe wouldn't stop staring at a fixed direction, her finger pointing at the half-dragon's mind's eye. The woman looked to where the babe was pointing, then a confused frown marred her face.

"Annie, what is it?" she rocked the babe up and down. The child, Annie, only cooed and spoke in a language that she herself could understand, still staring at Shyvana.

And all of a sudden, the connection was lost. The picture simply winked out of existence, pulling the half-dragon back into the reality violently. She opened her eyes and jolted awake, panting heavily. Her whole body was covered in cold sweat, and it was then Shyvana realized a man stood before her, the man in grey who captured them earlier.

His face betrayed no emotions, only the dismal curl of his thin, chapped lips. He looked so pale his complexion almost matched his attire, and his hands were folded behind his back, his spine so straight the posture seemed almost uncomfortable.

She tried to look intimidating at least, but she could hardly control her rapid breathing. She managed a deep breath, but only succeeded in gasping and croaking to her shame.

"What did you see?" he asked. No introductions or greetings. This man was as blunt as he seemed.

"The tricks you have laid for me," the half-dragon spat forcefully.

"If we wish to force secrets out of you, I could have just read your mind, or subject you to simple mental torture. Whatever you have seen has inspired fear in you, and we thought you were fearless. We were simply monitoring you, until your brain activity spiked so suddenly, we were worried you were having a seizure,"

"If you don't plan to force secrets out of me," she decided to change the subject, finding the vision earlier a little too uncomfortable to talk about. "Then what is it that you want with me?"

There was a pause, the silent so palpable the half-dragon could feel her own disquiet.

"Your assistance," he finally said, his deep, smooth voice reverberating about the white room.

The half-dragon scoffed. "And yet I'm bound to this metal chair. Do you kidnap people to seek their aid?"

"Because one way or another, you have to help us. You cannot reject,"

"You could have tried asking nicely,"

He smiled slyly. "That is not our way,"

"That is none of my concern,"

"Nevertheless," he cut her off. "You wish to seek vengeance on the drake that murdered your father, don't you?"

Shyvana kept quiet.

"I can help you find where he is," he simply offered. "Provided that you help us,"

She still said nothing. Something felt fishy, she knew it. Either this man was too desperate, or there is something else he did not tell her.

"I know what you're thinking. That this is a trap and I should not be trusted," the man reached into his robes and retrieved a a blue orb-like device, casting its eerie lights across the room. Floating above his palm, the runes etched into the machinations of the device glowed hotly, before splitting itself and began to spin, illuminating a globe-shaped aura around it, revealing the map of Valoran.

"This trinket pinpoints the location of the drake, and it will be yours once you agree to help me. After that, you and the prince are free to go as you please, with this device,"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is it that you need?"

"My daughter," he said. "My wife and I are renowned mages of the Gray Order, and together we birthed a child who has possibly inherited our magical adeptness and psychic mastery," he withdrew his palm, and the orb shrunk back into its normal self, the runes' glow dying down. "Just a few months old, she was able to conjure a small mote of flame, or establish prominent psychic connections with my wife, Amoline and I,"

Shyvana shuddered and had no doubt that this child was similar to the one she saw in her vision. She struggled to keep a straight face, and inhaled deeply when he did not notice her change in demeanour.

He continued. "A child, who is most probably pyrokinetic and exhibits the ability of mental domination, is most easily the target of malignant forces. Have you heard of the tale of the shadow demon?"

She shook her head.

"This creature devours the magical force of mages, and is the living terror of all warlocks since the beginning of time. No mage has ever encountered this beast and sealed it or tamed it. Perhaps it is a wild djinn on the loose, we do not know. But whatever it is, it targets areas with strong concentration of magical auras, and will first establish a connection with its victims before luring them out. Coincidentally, when Ryze appeared with the Gray Order, my daughter started having nightmares,"

"You think that creature could have gone after Ryze?"

"No," the man cleared his throat. "The creature is more attracted to fire magic. Ryze makes use of arcane spells and rune magic. Anyhow, we have peered into my daughter's mind to relive her night terrors, and all we see from her dreams was a dark shadow, shifting and changing shapes, with red glowering eyes. That must be the shadow demon, and it is coming after my daughter,"

The half-dragon waited for the man to make his request.

"And I want you to kill that creature for us, so my daughter would be safe once again,"

Shyvana snarled, her eyes narrowed in distaste and ridicule. "How do you expect me to slay a creature that cannot be seen? More so a djinn? If not even the warlocks or mages can take down this _thing,_ I want nothing to do with it,"

"This shadow creature is attracted to fire, and past records had implied that it was susceptible to fire, just as it desired it. Your ability to manipulate heat and fire is different from other forms of destruction magic. Also, the Gray Order will assist you in taking down this demon," from the way he said it, she could tell that he was desperate, but not enough to show it through his voice or emotions.

She held up her chin defiantly. "If I refuse?"

"I will slit that man's throat, right in front of you,"

Her defiance dissipated, replaced by rigid fear and terror. She hated how she was manipulated so easily, and she cursed silently. The man smiled at the change of her composure.

"Do you know who he is?" she grunted, raw anger burning her throat, but this time she was the one afraid and desperate. "Do you know what the consequences will be, if you murder him?"

"Oh, I do, half-dragon. And I know your relationship with him, we have seen everything," he stepped forward. "And I don't care. I don't care if he is the heir to the throne. I don't care what he means to you, or what you mean to him. Don't forget that you are both stepping on the soil of his enemies. If his blood spills here, I'll be doing Noxus a favour,"

Shyvana pursed her lips, once again finding herself cornered by predators. The man locked gazes with her, and she knew that he was not making idle threats.

"What is your name, _warlock_?" she spat furiously.

"Gregori Hastur," he answered without hesitation, his calmness and murderous intent palpable within the white walls of her prison.

"Gregori Hastur," she spoke his name with hate. "Give me that orb and release him, then I will help you,"

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated!**


	22. Chapter 22: Transmundane

**Chapter 22 : Transmundane**

"…_There was no doubt in the full extent of the inborn abilities that the child has, but even now we cannot test the full potential of her gift. The moment she was born she seemed like any other child – fat and pink, innocent and delightful, squalling like any other newborn babe. At first glance, I expected nothing from the child, just a new future member of the Gray Order whom I'll soon have to cultivate when she comes of age, another new blood we will have to train and shape and mold into an adept sorceress, to further our legacy and inheritance. _

_That child was expected to at least wield some magical talent, being born from a warlock father and a witch mother. But what we did not expect was the immensely powerful gift she was given..._

* * *

After she had agreed to help Gregori Hastur, they had released her from her restraints and moved her to a proper room. And by 'moving', they actually put her to sleep and placed her in a more decent chamber with a proper bed, a small desk and a bookshelf. When she woke, her hands were freed from the painful bindings, and she was leaning against a comfortable featherbed.

The chamber was white too, to her frustration. But she couldn't complain much.

Shyvana blinked when her vision cleared, taking in the stark whiteness of the room. On the desk was a jug of wine with an intricate glass beside it. At the sight of the wine, she realized how dry her throat was, and she quickly poured herself a glass, quenching her thirst.

She did not notice the small device until she put down her glass. The orb where Gregori had promised her was lying idly on the table, its colour almost similar to the surface. She picked up the object, feeling the smooth metal surface and the ridges of runes carved into the sphere. The runes glowed with an ominous blue light, and the device split itself suddenly to reveal the mechanisms underneath. Startled, she nearly dropped the device to the floor.

A holographic globe expanded around the orb, showing the map of Valoran. It spun at a rather slow speed, and Shyvana searched for the Ironspike Mountains, looking for a wide mountain range with jagged peaks.

When she found it, there was a ripple around a small circle among the lines and shapes that depicted the Ironspike Mountains. Lying in the heart of the Ironspike, but not so far into the north. To that, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Putting down the device, Shyvana started pacing around the room. How would Gregori want her to help him? When would he contact her? Her fingers fiddled nervously and she bit her lip in frustration. She hated waiting, and if there was anything worse than waiting, it was being entirely clueless about her situation.

She got so bored she started browsing the bookshelf. Most of them were tomes, spellbooks and grimoires, or simply history books about the world. Majority of the books were heavy books at least a thousand pages thick, and just the sight of them made her eyelids feel heavy.

She randomly picked a thin book from the shelf and studied the frontispiece – hardback, leather bound and its pages yellowed. The title read '_The Planes Beyond Runeterra_'

Heading to the bed, she plopped down on the pillow and started flipping through the pages, seeing diagrams and drawings of a hundred different geometrical shapes. She did not bother reading the texts – not that she would understand them anyway, and to her those shapes looked like celestial bodies that her father once spoke of reverently, that Runeterra was one of the celestial bodies in the heavens that was formed from clusters of ashes and dusts. And so she looked at the diagrams, captioned in Runic, a language that only wizards and sorcerers used for incantations and spells.

Her eyes soon grew heavy, and she did not know when or how, but she fell asleep with the book on her chest.

In her dream, she walked aimlessly. She could feel something calling to her, an unknown force of nature pulling her and guiding her, and without second thoughts within her dream-like state, she felt herself floating towards the edge of oblivion.

A baby whimpered. Drawn within herself, Shyvana could not tell nor see what was ahead of her. Her mind was an endless fog of confusion, and drugged by her drowsiness, she forgot about precautions and suspicions.

"Who are you?" she asked, not expecting an answer.

The whimper did not stop, but it grew softer. A moment later, an image was projected into her mind. The image of the same nursery room that she had seen before, but she could not remember where. Nevertheless, another image appeared, this time a framed photograph of a couple dressed in grey, standing together for a photo. It was Gregori Hastur and his wife, and her arms were wrapped around a small bundle. They were both smiling, but Shyvana could tell that there was no benevolence behind that smile.

Bells chimed. The air smelled of something burning. Another image replaced what she was seeing.

This time she saw a man in grey being burnt alive, his arms flailing in the air wildly as he screamed. She saw his eyes melting from his sockets, his skin and flesh blacken and curl like a burnt out match. His grey robes caught fire quickly, and burnt with the rest of him.

Then another image. A woman was strapped to a chair similar to the one she was bound to earlier, and she seized uncontrollably, eyes rolled back into her head and her mouth foamed. She thrashed around so much her hands simply tore the leather straps from the chair, and her nails went to her face, clawing her own cheeks and gouging her fingers deep into her own eyes, ribbons of blood streaming down her face as she screamed and screamed and screamed.

Another image. An old man, emaciated and haggard, sitting in a rickety chair, his eyes dead and white as paper, his mouth hanging open with a thread of drool as he stared in a distance. But his chest rose and fell, showing signs of life. Nonetheless, he stared into oblivion, his expression devoid of life. _His mind was completely damaged, he is no longer sentient, _a voice spoke. On his table was stacked high with trays of stale food, left to the vermin and pests.

More images flashed through her mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Until the last one where all she could see was utter darkness. Just inky darkness.

But within that, something sinister swirled. A distant hum. Two glowing red pits staring back at her. And it was then she saw _it –_ a shadow as black as the depths of the Void.

The _Void?_

The half-dragon shuddered. "Why are you showing me this?"

The baby cooed, as though confused, as if saying, _You asked for answer. _

All of a sudden, she understood.

All the images she had seen were the baby's _memories, _shown through the toddler's perspective. And she was answering her question by showing them.

"_What _are you?" Shyvana asked, fearing the unknown. Who would do something so horrifying?

The baby only giggled, mistaking Shyvana's sign of fear as being playful to her.

* * *

_...had surpassed any other sorcerer's or witch's we have ever seen. Or perhaps I was mistaken. We ran through some tests and experiments, seeing if that child has any power over mental domination, psycho-kinesis or runic energy. Oddly, the results came out negative._

_I thought we had overestimated her. Until when she was a few months old, she started displaying signs of extraordinary abilities. _

_Her parents started having odd dreams of their child speaking senseless gibberish, but what unsettled them was the clever glint in her eyes, like she knew what they were doing. Then they started seeing visions of people who have crossed the Gray Order, and secrets of what they had done to them resurfaced, secrets that only the two leaders of the Gray Order knew, that no one else was privy to. _

_They brushed it off as a random, coincidental occurrence. The child started displaying odd behaviour then, like random objects would combust with a small mote of flame whenever she stared at something for too long, or how other sorcerers would suddenly hear a baby's babbling despite being nowhere near her. Her caretaker was closest to her, and claimed that she had had weird dreams and hallucinations like someone whispering to her. It wasn't long before she was driven insane and started displaying signs of masochism._

_Then one day the caretaker tried to harm the baby, claiming her as the spawn of demon and attempted to harm her with a knife (refer to appendix #1, evidence no. 6). Other staff of the Gray Order had heard the baby's sharp wails and the caretaker's screams, but when they entered the nursery, the caretaker was strapped to chair, with a knife between her and the baby who was still wailing uncontrollably. The caretaker began screaming and thrashing as though she was in a fit, and attempted to tear the straps, which she succeeded and started scratching her face and gouging her eyes out. She died a moment later due to cardiac arrest. Post-mortem reports stated that there was excessive bleeding at the cerebral area of her brain. _

_There were other incidents as well, where we tried to test the baby's abilities again. The experiment went awfully wrong, where one of our staff mishandled the child and she mistook it as a hostile movement. There was no heat in the chamber, nor any flammable items, but the staff spontaneously combusted, and he soon succumbed to third degree burns all over his body. _

_And there was another incident (refer to Heimholt's Experiment Report), where a man had all his five senses utterly destroyed, until he was totally incapable of any other human activity. He died of starvation soon after._

_Connecting the dots, all these victims only had one in common – they had, one way or another, attempted something which the baby perceived to be hostile, and their causes of deaths had been most unusual. Psychics detected bouts of mana energy at the places where they died, and we were very much convinced that magic was involved..._

* * *

Her eyes shot open in a moment of fright, and she panted frantically, catching her breath as her hand clutched her chest painfully, feeling the fierce beating of her heart underneath. The bed sheets were damp with her cold sweat, and the blankets were a tangled mess around her legs.

Looking at the table, she was about to pour herself another glass of wine to at least calm her nerves. But what she saw next sent a cold shiver down her spine.

The empty glass she had drank from earlier was toppled, the few drops left inside spilling upon the white tabletop. The wine had dried perhaps an hour ago, but the stain was still very much visible, and climbing out of the bed, Shyvana approached the table for closer inspection.

The stains were random and without pattern. At a closer look, she noticed how the stains formed a few letters, but it was not obvious due to the fact it seemed more like a child's handwriting, like the one who wrote had just learnt to hold a quill for a few days. She squinted, trying to see what was being shown to her.

"A... N...," she mumbled as she spelt. "N...,"

"It is time,"

She jumped, not knowing that Gregori Hastur was already in the room, standing before her with his usual grey robes. Shyvana cursed, and unconsciously wiped the wine stains away, hoping that Gregori had not seen what she was trying to do.

"You could have at least given a warning," she scoffed.

"We depart at once, half-dragon," he ignored her complaint, his gaze falling on the book she had picked from the shelf. "Never knew you were such a keen learner,"

"I was bored,"

Gregori Hastur smiled mirthlessly, moving his hands in various motions and whispering incantations. A rift opened, revealing a portal. Shyvana tried to see what was on the other side of the portal, but all she could see was a swirling black mass, and the sensation of wind whipping through the rift.

"Where are we going?" she asked, standing at a safe distance from the warlock.

"The forest where the demon was last seen. We have detected magical activity in this area," he opened another portal, this time her gauntlets falling through it and landed before her. They remained their beautiful red and golden colours, light reflecting on the metal edges. "You have a minute to be prepared before I throw you into this portal myself,"

Her eyes were fixed on the man, his hands still in the air to keep the portal open. She thought about the wine stains and the dream earlier, and the visions she had yesterday. Reminiscing, she had a clear idea of what word the stains had formed.

"Gregori Hastur," she called out. "What is your daughter's name?" she asked. There was no threat underlying her tone, only curiousity.

He stared at her, his cool eyes locked with hers, as if he could sense the fear and paranoia within her. There was a moment of silence between the both of them, and Shyvana thought he was never going to answer her. She shrugged, and walked towards the portal, ready to jump into it.

"Annie," Gregori said behind her, as she stepped into the darkness.

* * *

It was an overwhelming sensation, like she was swallowed by the ocean. She felt herself sinking further into the darkness' embrace, odd noises mumbling and whispering unintelligible words into her ears. She tried not to focus on what they were saying, but it was hard not to.

She had lost all sense of coherence. She was blinded and silenced, she could not see nor hear nor feel, and it made her sick in the stomach.

Until the portal spat her out and she fell two feet from the air, landing face-first into a puddle of mud.

Shyvana coughed and cursed, standing and dusting herself off with heated motions. Gregori Hastur stepped out of the portal and landed on his feet gracefully, maintaining his elegant composure unlike Shyvana. She glared at him distastefully, a glare which he returned rather mirthlessly.

"The Gray Order is here, together with Amoline and the prince,"

The half-dragon studied her surroundings, taking note of the tall pine trees closely grown together, their canopy of leaves blocking any rare streams of sunlight and halting the growth of minute plants underneath. But the sky was dark and the grove was darker, rendering her blind unless she depended on her dragon senses.

"We are at the west of the town," Gregori Hastur turned to her, and she noticed how his eyes glowed with an eerie blue hue. He walked around with ease, side-stepping boulders and avoiding puddles even though Shyvana had difficulty doing so. _Magic, _she thought. Magic always made everything more convenient.

"How are we suppose to catch the demon?" she asked, following closely.

"The Gray Order will lay a trap, a stasis bubble that freezes time and space within its activated radius," he explained. "We have already drawn the runes. All we need now is the energy and time to cast it. You will attempt to lure the demon into the rune circle and weaken it, and once we cast the spell the demon will be snared and contained, to be researched and disposed of,"

"_Researched?_" Shyvana emphasized, her voice filled with disdain.

"Researched to find the best way to exterminate it, or banish it to another spatial dimension, should the need arises,"

"Sounds easy enough," she mumbled.

"I hope so, the spell takes an awful amount of time to cast. The prince will be allowed to aid you, and both of you can use whatever means possible to buy us time," Gregori reached into his robe and retrieved a small wooden trinket. He chanted as he pointed the trinket to the soft ground beneath them, light began enveloping a mild radius around his hands as they moved like fluid. At the same time, a rune was seared to the ground, its language alien to the half-dragon. As the rune glowed, it revealed a large circular path of runes that surrounded the entire forest, before dimming and disappearing.

"It has begun," Gregori announced grimly. Shyvana's fists clenched around her gauntlets, feeling heat coursing through her blood. Her battle instincts kicked in, and she knew she was more pumped up than ever, ready to mow down whatever challenges that may present themselves before her.

A screech blared throughout the phantom forest, warning everyone of its existence. Shyvana barely flinched, though she must admit she felt slightly unnerved by the magnitude of the scream. Her senses sharpened immediately, ready to jump upon any sounds her ears may picked up.

"You didn't tell me what this demon is supposed to look like," Shyvana chided, her footsteps slow and measured so that she would not wake anything that lived in the forest, however tiny. She waited for an answer, but the silence was too much, and when she turned behind she realized she was alone.

"Son of a bitch," she cursed, and tossed Gregori Hastur to the back of her mind.

She breathed. Being tossed into the unknown, she suddenly remembered what her father had always taught her. _Still your breathing, calm your heart, immerse yourself into the quiet before the battle._

_The quiet before battle. _She relaxed her grip on her weapons a little, eyes and ears still acute to any visible changes of her surroundings – a sudden rustle of leaves, a chill gust of wind, anything. Otherwise, she remained still as a dead rock, waiting for whatever that was hiding beyond the forest to reveal itself.

Another screech. Her shoulders stiffened.

_Where?_ Her gaze darted around, her eyes akin to two burning molten pits. She scanned through every tree and bush and rock for any signs of movement. The hair on the nape of her neck stood erect, and her guts told her that something sinister was near.

But where?

Fear and uncertainty crept upon her. Soon, leaves and branches were swept into the air, blown in circles as though moved by a miniature twister.

This time there was no nerve-wrecking screech, but a low growl. Her vision darkened.

The rune that Gregori Hastur cast upon the ground burnt hotly.

Her vision was quickly turning dark, and the half-dragon hissed, instinctively surrounding herself in flames. Wisps of shadow swirled about the forest, hissed, then crept closer around the half-dragon.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks paled in fright. Then she knew.

It was _everywhere._

* * *

Jarvan heard the screech, and he was getting worried. Wrapped in the cloak Shyvana had lent him, the prince brandished his lance, slightly annoyed and unnerved by the fact that he could barely _see_. He cannot fight while his vision was limited.

"Where is Shyvana?" he asked, expecting the Shadow Witch, Amoline to answer. He knew almost the entirety of the Gray Order was here, preparing to capture the demon that had caused unrest upon the townspeople. Still, he would not trust these people, not after what happened to him at the inn.

He would never trust mages again.

"She is around," Amoline said. "Gregori had written the last rune. The circle is now complete, now we have to lure the demon into it. Be ready, prince,"

Another screech interrupted them, and Jarvan knew the demon was near.

He was about to ask her how he was supposed to fight something if he could not see, until a pair of soft hands rested on his temples, her touch gentle and warm. Jarvan sighed, a hot, burning sensation surging through his skin until his vision brightened. He saw the lady's green eyes and soft features, her face hardly marred by wrinkles or old age. When their gazes caught each other, Jarvan swiftly looked away, his face flushed

"This will help you see better. The demon should be here at any moment," Amoline stepped backwards. Jarvan couldn't help but notice how her grey dress hugged her form tightly, her breasts barely sagging and her skin still smooth and fair like a young maiden's. Curiously he wondered how old she must be. 30, perhaps?

_Focus, _he reprimanded himself. _Do not get distracted._

One by one, the members of the Gray Order cast a teleportation spell and winked out of existence. Until Amoline was left. Jarvan looked at her, puzzled.

"We are preparing the spell, prince," Amoline chanted, ready to cast the spell as well. "The Gray Order had the perimeter covered, the demon will be in our vicinity. Your job is to keep the creature occupied while the spell works itself,"

"So I am the bait?" he said, unable to hide the spite in his voice.

The Shadow Witch turned her back on him. A portal opened and she stepped into it, not before saying, "Good luck, prince,"

* * *

"Shit!"

A blue spark of lightning brushed past her cheek, electrifying the air around her. Shyvana hopped and dodged and rolled, desperately predicting the demon's next move as she threw fireballs of her own. The shadow demon's form shifted and spread like fluid, her flames barely inflicting any damage except irritating it.

The demon stayed still, the wisps of its form dripping like malicious venom. It watched the half-dragon carefully, and Shyvana suddenly felt how heavy the air was. She broke out in cold sweat, recognizing the density of mana concentration in the air, weighing her down and pressuring her.

This forest was saturated with magic. And no wonder the demon was so powerful.

_I will have to outsmart it,_ Shyvana decided, panting heavily. But how? Her attacks had no effects on this demon.

Tired of waiting, the demon lashed out, sending forth a huge mass of black fire. Its fire was dark as night and cold as the biting wind, a massive force of burning, virulent scourge that was fast approaching her.

Knowing she could not dodge in time, the half-dragon enveloped her gauntlet with heat and fire, and executed an uppercut. Her flaming fist collided with the black fire, the force throwing her off balance as it exploded into embers that rained upon the ground.

Small motes of black fire touched her face and skin, and her flesh hissed and sizzled. The half-dragon cried out in anguish, frantically rubbing her skin burnt raw by the tiniest bit of black fire. Blisters formed and her skin reddened, and the half-dragon shuddered.

This was how it felt like – being burnt by fire.

If a few drops of its fire had hurt this much, Shyvana dared not think how excruciating it would be if she were to be hit by a huge ball of it.

Suddenly, Shyvana felt her mind being dominated by a foreign force. It came first as an annoying itch, an itch that she knew it was there but not where. Then it slowly transformed into a throbbing headache, the vein in her temple began pulsing visibly. She began receiving uninviting thoughts that she had no idea where they come from, and she saw memories that did not belong to her, hearing sounds and experiencing alien feelings that did not belong to her. Someone whispered an odd language in her head, a language of screeches and garbles and gnarled words, words that she could not have understood. Yet she understood.

She saw darkness, a pool of burning black fire. She felt heat. Unbearable heat. Tormented beings howling and begging for mercy in a hundred other mundane languages, some she recognized – Shuriman, Ionian, the common tongue, even Runic. The half-dragon gasped, knowing she was not present at the hell she was seeing, knowing that it was just a mild hallucination. Yet it felt as though her lungs were clogged by the sulphuric air, poisoning her blood and seizing her heart. Her heart rate accelerated at an alarming rate, her limbs started trembling uncontrollably.

She saw where this demon first originated. Its birthing place.

The creature spoke. And she understood. _Where is it? The marked one?_

"Get out!" Shyvana screamed, her arms flailed wildly. She was no longer at the forest, her soul being projected to another dimension, another pocket of space that should have never existed, at least to the eyes of a mundane creature.

_You are not the one,_ its voice was a gong, each word a loud slam that sent a wave of nauseous pain through her head. _I do not belong here, yet I was bound to this plane. My temporary form deteriorates, if you do not find me the mark, I will die. I do not belong to this plane. Your body does not suit me, it yields no bond for my transmundane form._

"_I don't care!_" she howled, her words nothing but a shrill scream.

_You are bonded to the mark, and the mark is bonded to you. Your knowledge and memories will serve me well. May the oblivion consume you._

Shyvana fell to her knees. She felt blood trickling down her nose, her eyes rolled back into her head. She sighed. "Annie," she whispered, the word coming out of nowhere.

A light overwhelmed the darkness she saw in her mind's eye. And suddenly she was freed of her pain, her confinement, her personal space being intruded by an otherworldly demon. Shyvana gasped, able to breathe once more.

A familiar voice spoke in rapid, fluent Runic, before uttering in the language she understood. "Banish!" he roared, and the forest was filled with the wounded cries of a demon.

Her vision cleared, and the first thing she saw was a man in tattered robes, his torso bared and covered in glowing white markings. A large scroll, sizzling with power and arcane energy was strapped to his back, and when he turned to her, his eyes were a glowing white, his ashen beard whipping in the wind.

"You!" Shyvana gritted her teeth, struggling to her feet.

"You can thank me later," Ryze turned to the demon, already on its feet and seething with rage. The arcane mage brought his hands together, and a ball of sparkling energy formed between his palms. With a punch, he sent the spell forward, and it shot through the demon's shifting form.

To her surprise, the demon screeched.

"How...?" she stared, wide-eyed and confused. Ryze only laughed and prepared another spell.

"Physical attacks do no damage to a djinn," he explained. "And that's what he is, a djinn. A demon that does not belong to our physical plane, which was why its form was growing weaker as we speak, yet it was summoned here. Its summoner had bound its presence to this plane such that it was unable to return to its dimension,"

"Gregori said it was weak to fire. My attacks did no damage or whatsoever,"

"You are a fool to believe him, halfling," Ryze chided. "This creature is the result of Gregori's experiment. I did not understand his intentions, but now I do. Gregori had always been ambitious, and a djinn's power is undeniably strong,"

"His daughter," Shyvana suddenly understood why Gregori wanted her help. "The djinn needed a host, and that was his daughter. Gregori refused to sacrifice her,"

"And so he sent you here in her stead,"

"The demon said I was not the one," she said, not surprised by Gregori's lies and betrayal. "It mentioned... a mark,"

Ryze's markings shone again. "Doesn't matter. I'm going to banish this demon while we escape. I cannot remove the bindings between the summoner and the djinn, but I can create a temporary time and space, and banish it there. It won't hold for long, though. Where is the prince?"

The half-dragon was quiet for a few moments, considering her options carefully. The demon was seething, its form shifting more violently and frequently. She was at a terrible situation, but she knew she could never trust this mage even though he had offered his assistance. Her eyes flared bright orange, and wisps of liquid fire poured from her gauntlets.

"He's coming," she said. "How will you pull this off? The Gray Order is watching us, if you do this they will come after us,"

"I got that covered," Ryze mumbled, then began to chant. With one hand, he conjured an orb of pure, white-hot energy, which he tossed with keen accuracy towards the djinn. The demon howled and cast its own spells as well, trading attacks with the mage. Ryze dodged, all the while his other hand writing runes with quick precision and firing it to the soft ground around the djinn.

Writing the last rune, Ryze stepped backwards. The rune circle activated, and when the djinn tried to lash out another spell, twelve yellow spears materialized around it, halting its movements, crackling sparks and imprisoning the demon. The mage never stopped chanting, and his hands struck six gestures that Shyvana had seen several times – the teleportation spell.

A rift opened right above the angered djinn, a space of vacuum from another dimension sending leaves and branches flying around in wild gusts of wind. The djinn's form was disintegrating quickly, its black shadowy tendrils being sucked bit by bit into another dimension by Ryze's rift.

"Vile demon!" Ryze's voice boomed. "Begone!"

The djinn remained stubborn, its form still tethered strongly to the physical world. Shyvana could see frustration boiling within Ryze, until the prison that bound the demon began shaking violently, before shattering and exploding with a bright, blinding flash.

Shyvana shielded her eyes. Ryze cursed. But when they opened their eyes, the rift was already closed, the runes smoking and no longer active, and the djinn was gone.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Shyvana asked, noticing how Ryze seemed confused. He turned to her, not answering her question as he strode forward.

"Does that matter?" he kicked a pebble idly, and prepared himself to cast another spell. "Right now we have to get out of – _Ackk!_"

The half-dragon tackled the mage and pinned him to the ground. For the first time, Shyvana saw fear in his eyes, and she saw herself through his eyes' reflection – murderous and vengeful, the sharpened edge of her gauntlet poised at his throat which bobbed up and down fearfully.

"Wha – What's the meaning of this?!" Ryze shouted. Shyvana only pressed the gauntlet closer to his throat, drawing a bead of blood which rimmed the sharp edge.

"You are a _fool_ to think that I will believe you," she bared her teeth, her sharp incisors striking fear deep into his heart. Her heightened senses could sense the telltale signs of spells ready to be cast, which she growled. "Do not even try casting a spell. I will slit your throat, no hesitation. Dare to try me?"

Ryze remained still, but his shoulders still trembled. "We're sitting ducks here. You have to trust me!"

"I don't care," she snarled. "Let them come. Let Gregori Hastur come. I'll spill his guts on this ground. I'll slaughter every last one of his puppets. Where did you hide the prince?"

"Ri-ridiculous!" Ryze stammered, but his brows knitted in fury. "I come here to put an end to Gregori's plans. If he gets ahold of the djinn's power, he will –"

"I don't care about Gregori Hastur. You used the prince and me. You tricked us, and I won't fall for your silly theatrics again,"

"You have to trust me! That girl, Annie, we have to help her!"

Shyvana stiffened at that name, her lips pulled back in a taut line.

Ryze noticed the change in her demeanour, and testing the waters, he laid a hand on the gauntlet. The half-dragon did not swat it away. "She has connected to you, hasn't she? Please, if her father knows how powerful she is –"

"I know no one by that name,"

Ryze continued. "– he will use her to further his goals, and possibly transcend to something akin to godliness, like the djinn. You know it. The results could be catastrophic,"

Shyvana swallowed hard. She hated being in this position, in a dilemma where she could not choose. Before she could weigh her decisions, the bush behind her rustled. Her shoulders tensed, ready to face whatever threat that may come before her.

"Shyvana!" a familiar voice called out, and the half-dragon felt relief crushing upon her.

Without removing the gauntlet from the mage's neck, Shyvana looked over her shoulder and saw the prince, donned in his golden armour and the cloak made from her father's hide. He strode towards her with ease, avoiding any mud puddles or pebbles in his way.

"You had me worried," he chuckled, and his gaze hardened when he saw Ryze, who was still pinned to the ground. "Why is he here?"

"He helped us somehow. The demon is gone for now," Shyvana explained quickly. "He can help us get out of here, but I don't trust him,"

Jarvan sighed. "Never trust sorcerers. I've learnt that the hard way. But if he's our only way out of here..."

Surprisingly, Ryze had gone very quiet. His shoulders have stopped trembling, and he did not seem to notice the gauntlet at his throat anymore. The mage stared at Jarvan intently, and Shyvana could only wonder what he was thinking.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Shyvana rose, pulling the mage to his feet, her gauntlet still placed at his neck. Ryze no longer whined, and Shyvana felt his sudden change of behaviour rather odd. Earlier he was begging for mercy, and now he was quiet and withdrawn to himself, contemplating silently.

The prince only flashed her a smile, and shook his head. "No. You look well. Now we have to get out of here. We can talk later,"

The half-dragon agreed, and nudged the mage. "Cast your spell, mage. Get us out of here,"

Ryze still stared at the prince, his glare hot enough to sear through Jarvan's back. He did nothing to cast any spells, only stared at the prince. Jarvan was indifferent to him however, and he just kept looking at the forest around him, until he met Ryze's unsettling gaze.

Shyvana nudged him harder, finally breaking him from his trance. Ryze turned to meet the half-dragon's amber eyes, and vehemently he shook his head. "No," he spoke, refusing to cast any spell.

Jarvan's blue eyes gleamed in confusion. "What's wrong with you?"

Ryze could feel the sharp edge of the gauntlet pressing hard against his throat, but he refused nonetheless. "I won't teleport us out of here,"

Shyvana hissed, her grip on her gauntlet tightened. "Say that again,"

"The Gray Order hasn't teleported here and slammed the shit out of us," Ryze said coldly. "Why do you think so? They must have seen me here. They must have known what I did to their prized puppet. So why haven't they appeared to capture me yet?"

The half-dragon had no answer for that, and so she kept quiet. Indeed, it was getting suspicious.

"Prince Jarvan," Ryze called out, making sure he was loud enough to be heard. "How could you see so well in the dark?"

The prince narrowed his eyes, then he answered. "One of the mages cast a spell on me, so that I could see in the dark. How am I suppose to fight if my vision is pitch black?"

"Who touched you?" Ryze asked again.

Jarvan remembered Amoline's soft fingers touching his temples, as his vision brightened. "Amoline,"

"What's your point, Ryze?" Shyvana was running out of patience, and her voice was a low growl. But she saw how the mage's face had turned the colour of milk, his eyes still fixed on Jarvan.

"The demon," Ryze said, fear dripping from his words. "I failed. I did not banish it. It escaped,"

Jarvan and Shyvana glared at Ryze. The prince's face was a steel mask of coldness, and Shyvana only felt more confused by his words.

"Forgive me, halfling," Ryze spoke. Then he raised two fingers, while elbowed Shyvana hard in the gut, which she doubled over and stepped backwards in pain. Sparks flew from Ryze's fingers, striking Jarvan hard in the chest, sending him tumbling straight towards the trees. The prince's back collided hard with the trunk of a tree, and with an excruciating grunt he slid down, his head lolling about in an unconscious state.

Recovering, Shyvana leapt forward and tackled Ryze, punching him straight in the jaw. "What the fuck are you doing?!" she roared, landing another two punches onto his face and broke his nose. She was about to continue battering his face, until Ryze caught her arms and shouted in her face, his mouth spitting blood and broken teeth.

"He is _marked_! Amoline marked him! He is the sacrifice! Don't you see?! _Don't you see_?!" he screamed in naked fury, and finally Shyvana stared at him, her eyes wide with horror. She turned towards the prince, who sat unconscious below the tree, his lance laying idle by his side.

To her horror, black smoke emanated from the prince's body.

"Banish it again," she said, and it was not a request. "Flush it out, like you did to me earlier,"

"I can't. The djinn. Once it possesses the host it is compatible with, that is _marked_, it binds the body to it, there's no way –"

"Cut the crap!" she screamed.

"I can't do it!" Ryze shouted back, his voice hoarse and hysterical. "We have to get out, the djinn will kill all of us. Gregori got what he wanted – the fucking djinn in the perfect fucking body! And now he's going to trap it. That's his grand plan, and he won!"

More smoke poured out of Jarvan's body. His fingers twitched.

Shyvana's breathing quickened. Her gaze turned to Jarvan, the prince. The kind prince who had helped her countless times, never leaving her behind. The prince, who made love to her passionately when they were both in the boat out in the sea. He groaned, looking up, his drowsy blue eyes meeting hers. And for a while, she was hopeful.

Then he spoke in an odd language. A language she had heard earlier, used by the djinn when he entered her mind.

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and her blood curdled.

* * *

"That old fool is in the game," the Shadow Witch commented snidely, as her eyes watched the events that unfolded. Her body was with the rest of the Gray Order, but part of her mind was scrying through Ryze's perspective, and the rogue mage had too much to worry about that he did not notice Amoline's intrusion.

She had thought of giving Ryze a hard push, forcing him to tumble and make a mistake, just so the djinn could rip him to shreds. She had never liked him – arrogant and self-centered. But now, she quite enjoyed the fear and confusion on his face, and decided to only watch the tragedy happen from afar.

The rest of the Gray Order channelled their mana energy into the large runic circle that surrounded the entire forest. Gregori Hastur nodded as his wife projected the images she saw into his head, sharing their visions.

"Ryze will teleport anytime soon," Amoline warned.

"That is taken care of," Gregori said, and proceeded to chant an incantation. "I've set up a barrier around the runic circle, right after he hopped into the battle. Now they can't get out, trapped like _mice_," he stressed the last word with disdain and abhorrence.

"A shame really," Amoline remarked, her voice full of apathy. "I quite like the prince, and the half-dragon. But this is for Annie,"

Gregori neither agreed nor disagreed. "For the Gray Order," he simply said, and watched as the djinn went berserk.

* * *

Jarvan dashed forward, lance in his hand, but his face was a cold mask of stone, unforgiving and cruel. Black tendrils of smoke weaved behind him, and everywhere he stepped on, a jet of red-orange flame burst high into the sky.

Shyvana dodged, rolled and stepped out of the prince's attack range. She was obviously holding back, not even trying to land a hit. She brought up her gauntlets once or twice to parry a thrust from his lance, but she did not retaliate.

Ryze, on the other hand, was desperately trying to open a rift, but to no avail.

"Fuck it!" he threw his hands up, giving up. "Gregori set up a barrier! There's no way out!"

She ignored the mage. Even if he had opened a portal, she wouldn't escape with Ryze anyway. She wouldn't leave him, not like this.

"Then we have to fight him. Fuck Gregori Hastur, I'm not letting him win!" she roared. Jarvan charged with alarming speed, his lance held high above his head, ready to bring it down onto the half-dragon. Shyvana cursed and instinctively covered herself in flames, quick enough to shield her head with her gauntlets.

His lance collided with her gauntlets. Steel met steel, and sparks flew.

"Jarvan," Shyvana grunted, her hands beginning to tremble from the demon's sheer force. "How could you be so reckless?"

The prince's eerie blue eyes met hers, but within them she saw no recognition or familiarity. Only coldness, and bloodlust. He opened his mouth and a string of unknown words tumbled forth, and by the time Shyvana realized what he was saying, it was already too late.

But before he could release the spell upon the half-dragon, a bout of magical energy flew towards the prince, cancelling the spell he was casting with an ear-splitting burst. Shyvana took the opportunity and stepped backwards quickly, putting some distance between herself and the djinn who had taken over Jarvan's body. When she looked to the caster, Ryze was already preparing to cast another spell.

"I will use magic to break down his magical defenses," Ryze explained, swirls of purple and white energy gathered in his palms, causing a huge flux of mana, sizzling with strength and power. "Then you will strike his physical form to weaken him. Eliminate him,"

Before the half-dragon could disagree, she felt the air being superheated, and it did not come from her. Letting her draconic instincts take over, she jumped into the air and flipped backwards, narrowly dodging a jet of black fire that obliterated everything in its path.

Jarvan's hands were covered by black flames, his lance dripping malicious heat and dark magic. He mumbled unintelligible words, and not even the voice belonged to the prince anymore, but to the demon that dwelled within.

* * *

Ryze sent in spells after spells. Sparks and flames and ice conjured out of nowhere, and he threw in every destruction magic spell that he could conjure. But every spell that was thrown into the demon's direction was deflected effortlessly by its dark tendrils, wisps of darkness that simply lashed out to ward off his weak attacks.

_It's no use,_ deep inside him, he knew it. But the mage was running out of ideas, and time as well. Soon the demon would overwhelm them, and he hated to think of the consequences should Gregori ever had the djinn under his command. The Grey Warlock had always been ambitious, and even though he had been the man to lead the High Command's court wizards and sorcerers away from the country's corruption and greed, he had always put his goals as his first priority before anything else.

And Ryze hated how he was always his rival. He had once proven to him, that not even Amoline could defeat him in psychic abilities. And she loathed him for that. But Gregori was different – there had been several times where he was one step ahead of him.

His only chance to surpass him would be to foil his plans.

Earlier, he had felt an odd headache – nothing severe, just an itch that he couldn't scratch. It wasn't until he could no longer warp space to create a teleportation portal that he realized somehow the Gray Order was able to watch their every move with exact precision. And so Ryze reached deep into his own mind, and peeped, looking for the possible intruder, and cautious enough to not alert this infiltrator.

He almost sneered when he realized who it was.

Now, he only proceeded to cast spells that cost low mana. The half-dragon was struggling, but the demon had not gained the upper hand yet. And so he slowly reached for the mental link, the connection that Amoline had established to intrude his conscience. Ryze shuddered, he always hated being scryed by this woman.

Slowly, he followed the link back to its spell-caster, careful not to cause any attraction to himself. It should be difficult to others, but this was a menial task for the arcane mage.

He had to hide his excitement as he finally reached Amoline's most personal space, undetected - her memories and thoughts. Like discovering a treasure trove, he began pulling back drawers and opening chests that hid in her deepest mind, revealing valuable information and secrets that not even her husband knew.

In his mind, Ryze chuckled wickedly. _Dear, sweet Amoline. What a snake you are,_ he tutted, still looking through her memories and visions. _Oh how the tables have turned. _

He looked at a rather obscene memory that should have only belonged to Amoline and Gregori, but Ryze simply took it as a revenge and cackled like a villain who had won his prize. _And turns out Gregori is a hapless boy beneath the sheets. Ha! Incompetent. _

Then a flashback played out. A scene of a baby girl, with bright green eyes and wisps of brown hair atop her head. He began seeing countless memories of this girl – happy, gleeful memories, like every toddler should have, then it all turned dark, and Ryze held his breath as the darkest secrets of the Gray Order unveiled itself before him.

He had known about Gregori and Amoline's child. Annie. He had heard of the girl's talent, but he did not expect power like _this_.

_What have they brought unto this world? _Beads of sweat peppered the mage's forehead.

An alarming tingle shocked him out of his reverie, and Ryze nearly pulled out of Amoline's head in fear, afraid that somehow she had discovered him peeking into her mind. He restrained himself, and realized that it was not Amoline who had found him, but someone else. Someone else who had been inside her head the whole time and discovered him, yet Ryze had failed to notice its presence when he looked into the witch's secrets.

The intruder did not alert his presence to the witch. Instead, it remained idle, waiting for him to do something. Perhaps it was even imploring him to find it.

_Is it Gregori? Or someone from the Order? Could it be the djinn itself? Who else would be powerful enough to enter the mind of the Shadow Witch undetected?_

He soon found his answer. And Ryze could not believe it.

He was shown the image of a child, a babe which he was horrified of moments ago.

_Impossible. _

The child giggled happily, thinking he was simply toying with her. He realized he had to cut the link immediately, before Amoline could wreak havoc –

The babe then showed him an image of the half-dragon, and their current predicament. It was as though she was trying to communicate with him, despite being a babe who could barely walk or talk. Ryze was suddenly very afraid, afraid of the possibilities that this child could achieve. When she grew up, the world could literally be at her mercy.

He watched silently, seeing what she had to propose. He noticed her fondness with the half-dragon, and he wondered if Shyvana had known about this child.

_Shee-wanne,_ she mumbled childishly.

Knowing what the child wanted, Ryze quickly disconnected from the Shadow Witch's mind. He never stopped hurtling spells towards the djinn, but he turned to Shyvana.

A half-breed, blue of skin and grey-scaled. With eyes as fierce as burning gold, and a mane of vicious red hair. Her gauntlets of crimson and golden hues gleamed with a wicked edge, and the flames that she conjured burnt with righteous fury. She was an angry beast, wreaking havoc on everything in her path. Ryze could not understand how the prince could ever find company from that creature. And he was even more puzzled to find the child being fond to her.

_But it's the only way, _Ryze grimaced, and drew in mana energy from his surroundings.

* * *

She did not stop. She could not stop. Ryze's spells barely hurt him. The possessed prince landed blows after blows upon her gauntlets tirelessly. She had grazed his cheek and punched him once or twice in his gut, but he did not falter, and his anger only burnt stronger as moments passed. She panted, wheezed, huffed, the fatigue beginning to catch up on her.

But she could not stop.

It wasn't midway through the fight that she started having a pounding headache, but she remembered that she had not taken a blow on the head. Once or twice her head throbbed so painfully she almost doubled over, nearly receiving a fatal blow from Jarvan's lance, only to step away or dodge in the nick of time.

She stepped a few paces away, her hand grabbing her head, trying to rub the ache away. The half-dragon looked at the arcane mage, who stared at her apologetically.

Shyvana was confused, and that left her exposed. Then the djinn saw its chance and fired a bolt of lightning in the half-dragon's direction. The half-dragon saw it too late and could only bring her gauntlets together, a feeble attempt to ward off the djinn's spell which struck her painfully. She cried, and was thrown backwards when the djinn pounced onto her and knocked her to the ground.

Her head struck the soft mud, and her eyes were met by the dangerous glimmer of the lance's tip. She struggled and took hold of Jarvan's hands, trembling with force as the tip loomed dangerously close.

The throbbing headache made her violent, wanting to wound and kill.

Roaring, she slammed her knee into Jarvan's gut, which knocked him away momentarily. The djinn grunted, and Shyvana angrily returned a punch in the face. The prince staggered and fell to his side. The half-dragon swiftly responded with an angry sneer, climbing onto him and threw his lance away.

Her eyes were clouded by anger, hatred and fear. The pain from the headache still ailed her, and hatefully she raised a fist far behind her, burning hot with flames trailing from her arm, singeing the sleeve of her tunic.

She wanted to bring it down onto the djinn's head. She wanted to smash its head into bloody bits, and continuously pummel it until it was nothing but gore. She was so full of hatred and disgust they almost spilled over, but she hesitated.

Jarvan's beautiful blue eyes met hers, and she realized it was the face of someone she could not hurt.

Shyvana let out a bitter cry.

However, the prince only answered her cry with a fist charged with a powerful lightning spell, punching it straight into her chest. The half-dragon's body seized like a man electrified, and she gasped, the breath being knocked out of her lungs.

The headache grew worse. It was like having a thunderstorm in her head, and she nearly fainted from the pain of it.

Then she recognized that feeling. That feeling where someone had entered her mind, invaded her most private space, her secret chamber. But there was nothing she could do to stop the power of the transmundane.

The djinn will destroy her mentally, before crushing her body with its spells and vicious magic. Ryze was right, Gregori Hastur had won. She closed her eyes, only wanting her suffering to end.

Until, in her mind, she heard the familiar giggle of a child.


	23. Chapter 23: Predestined

**Chapter 23: Predestined**

"_Our lives are controlled and manipulated by unseen forces that only few can comprehend. If all occurrences in this world are not coincidental, but predestined, then who is He who shapes our very existences, and purposely builds this complex loop that relates all lives and goes on for eternity?_

_So many questions. Enigma. But one I do have the answer to. Someone must complete this loop, or else this complicated, paradoxical balance that is built by He Who No One Knows will crumble to dust. _

_And so I implore you, Annie the Dark Child. Take this artifact, learn the activating spell, and travel back to your starting point. Complete this predestination paradox. You are the only one who can decipher this, for this is only meant for you,"_

A deciphered excerpt of _The Paradox We Call 'Fate'_, written by Zilean.

* * *

_...Nevertheless, the test continues. We have made sure the child was under our watch at all times, and all staff that were to handle the child were to get an authorization from the leaders of the Gray Order. Strangely, all magical occurrences disappeared, leaving the child as normal as she could be. _

_Amoline suggested that further tests would only upset the child, that experiments would only leave her more isolated, and alienated to the surroundings. Truth be told, Annie seemed a little more withdrawn to herself ever since the tests had begun. But I know better. Under hostile situations would I be able to confirm my hypotheses, and so I insisted the tests be continued, much to Amoline's chagrin. _

_Indeed, a few days later, the child's parents had odd dreams again. But this time they dreamt of a legend as old as time, a legend which my predecessors had, perhaps, told countless times. The story of djinns and imps and demons from the darkest depths of oblivion, creatures that resided in another pocket of space and time, a dimension that was not aligned to ours. _

_A djinn was summoned to Runeterra, and bound to this plane. The summoner could not banish it now, and so the djinn requires a host to stay alive, and sent a threatening message in the form of a dream. _

_That was when they started to wonder if the tragic incidents that happened beforehand were truly caused by the child alone, or did she have help? Or was it all the demon's work?_

_So many questions unanswered. But one thing remained true – they realized that summoning the djinn was a mistake, and so we formulated a plan. A plan to right their mistakes..._

* * *

The half-dragon had gone quiet.

The arcane mage had noticed this, and stayed in between the djinn and Shyvana. He threw spells to slow the demon down, and used part of his mind to help with the transference. Annie may be powerful and gifted. However, she was still a child, and needed guidance to enter the half-dragon's mind without resistance.

Shyvana had resisted at first, forcing him and Annie out of her conscience. Soon, she grew docile, and allowed them to infiltrate her mind.

"I'm sorry, halfling," he muttered. The air began to shift, chilly winds blew more frequently. And soon Ryze could feel his tattoos glow with white-hot power – the forest was suddenly saturated in magic.

The transference was complete.

He refused to pull out of Shyvana's mind, instead choosing to keep a close eye on her. After what he had seen in Amoline's memories of what the child could do, he decided that he should at least make sure that she would not accidentally drive the half-dragon insane. So he stayed on the threshold of the half-dragon's mind, a fine line keeping him from reading her thoughts.

When Ryze looked at Shyvana, he was slightly intimidated by how indifferent she looked. Her cold eyes stayed fixated on the possessed prince, the fire in them surfaced with a thin layer of ice. Her flames no longer burnt like earlier, but now she radiated with energy – _magical _energy.

His mind was connected to hers, and he could feel how she had stopped resisting Annie's push. The relentless dragon in her had gone docile, allowing a magically talented child to take control. But Shyvana was still very aware of what was going on around her.

He wanted to know what she was thinking. He knew it was a sinful thing, to peep into someone else's personal thoughts. But as a mage and researcher, a philosopher and author of famous grimoires and tomes all over the world, Ryze was curious. He had no doubt that the half-dragon was communicating with the child, and he wanted to know how and what the child was telling her.

He tapped into her thoughts, trying to read her mind. To his surprise, he had no access to Shyvana's thoughts. In fact, he was detected and quickly drawn away by someone else.

_Bloody hell, is Annie so powerful? Or did she have outside help?_

Ryze may be right. How could a child be so powerful?

* * *

The half-dragon's mind was now as frail as ever. In two days time her thoughts had been infiltrated several times, and it got to the point that she was used to it.

The child pushed hard again, and she had no choice but to accept her. The back of her mind began to throb with pain, and she knew that if she resisted any further, she would die from brain damage. Deep in her head, a hammer slammed repeatedly against an anvil, and every ring brought a pulse of pain through her entire body.

"You did it," the half-dragon lamented. "And now you're going to do the same thing to me," she was reminded of the images the child had shown her, the images of people gone senile, mad, and virtually dead.

The child's giggle answered her. She knelt before her, on her knees and palms. Shyvana grunted, virtually crossing her arms across her chest. She could no longer tell what was happening in her present world. Instead, she was sealed in her own thoughts, interacting with a two-year-old child who managed to make her kneel with just a push of her mind.

"At least tell me how you did it," the half-dragon focused. It was difficult, and her headache was killing her, but in the splash of white she could see the toddler, with her bright green eyes and soft brown hair, looking up at her as she drooled obliviously. Shyvana knelt, no longer afraid of the child. All the fear she had earlier was gone.

"Your name is Annie, is it?" the child answered her question with a toothy grin. The half-dragon's inquisitive gaze turned soft, but she remained vigilant, knowing that this child could possibly melt her brain in mere seconds. "You are barely three, but how do you know how to use spells?"

The baby's chubby hand reached out, her stubby little fingers trying to reach the tip of Shyvana's nose. The half-dragon's hand reached out as well, her gauntlet still clung tightly to her, and she wondered if she still had her senses if she was in her virtual mind. Their hands touched, and Shyvana's widened as she could feel the smoothness of the toddler's tiny palm, skin pale as milk and smooth as freshly woven silk. Her large hand, the colour of steel grey, a contrast to her miniature, childish hand.

The baby made happy noises. Shyvana waited for an answer, but it did not come.

"Are you not going to tell me?" she asked again. "Or do you not understand me? You appeared in my mind more than once. I know there is something you wish to tell me, and you even went to such great lengths to have me submit to you. What is it that you want me to know? What is it that you want?"

Annie only stared back at her amber eyes with amusement and oblivious joy. Shyvana frowned. She knew that any child that had seen her face would cry instantly, wanting to be away from a freak of nature. But Annie only seemed happy to see her.

Even happier than seeing her own mother.

But what Shyvana could not understand was that earlier Annie understood her questions, and would answer her by showing visions and hints. She bombarded her with more questions, but Annie now only stared back like a lost sheep, as though they were both communicating in languages they could not understand.

The child had not fried her brain, or driven her insane. What was it that she wanted?

"Oh they won't believe this,"

The half-dragon shot up in surprise, and swiftly turned back to the voice that spoke behind her. A young girl stood a few feet from here, though everything seemed white in her virtual self, she could clearly see the newcomer who came like a silent ghost. Her brown hair reached her chin, and the joyful and relieved glint that showed in her green eyes were free of malevolence and ill intent. She was wearing a sleeveless crimson dress that reached her knees, and her smile was so infectious.

The resemblance was uncanny, but Shyvana couldn't help but ask. "Who are you?"

"You looked so without the scars and prosthesis, Lady Shyvana," the girl whispered, tears welling up in her eyes, eyes that studied the half-dragon from head to toe. "So different you would be, 25 years from now,"

Shyvana only frowned, not understanding her.

"I am Annie Hastur," the girl approached her, and took both the half-dragon's hands in hers. "I know this is a lot to take in, but..."

"I don't understand," the half-dragon looked back and forth at the toddler and the girl, confusion setting in her mind.

"That baby is Annie Hastur," she explained, her eyes never leaving hers. "She will be me, but that will be 25 years later. We haven't got much time. Zilean's artifact, the magic is waning –"

"_What?_" Shyvana shook her head vehemently. "You're not making any sense,"

"'Magic does not make any sense,'," the older Annie interrupted, her grip on her hands tightened. "You said that to me once. It doesn't have to make sense, so please heed me, Lady Shyvana. Allow me to assist you, we haven't got much time now, everyone's fate depends on this moment alone, please believe me,"

"How –"

"Astral projection, Lady Shyvana," Annie said quickly. "The artifact sent my mind back to 25 years ago, which is now. My actions influenced my younger self. I had to remain quiet and use as little mana energy as possible to avoid alerting my parents. They can't know about Zilean's time magic, or the results will be catastrophic. Everything you saw earlier, it was me. I showed you those images. And I sent my parents those dreams, to warn them of the risks, so that they would stay away,"

Her amber eyes flared. "It was you. You murdered all those people,"

"Yes," Annie admitted, her face turned dark. "I had to do what needs to be done. Doesn't mean I will enjoy it.

Shyvana breathed heavily, still trying to grasp what was happening now.

"You can't seal this djinn alone. Not even Uncle Ryze can do it now," her green eyes gleamed with intelligence. "But I can flush him out from King Jarvan –"

"_What?_" she narrowed her eyes. Annie frowned, then she understood.

"Oh right, he's just a prince, for now," she whispered to herself, but Shyvana heard it nonetheless. "Please believe me. I need your body for now to banish the djinn. My younger self does not have the strength to endure a reflux of magical energy, yours will do. I assure you, Jarvan will be back in one piece,"

"How do I know that you're not in league with Ryze?"

"I sealed your thoughts," Annie squeezed her hands lightly, and oddly Shyvana felt she could put her life in her hands. "I know Uncle Ryze would try to take a peek, so now it's just us. You have to trust me, you know that's the right thing. Annie –" the girl pointed at the toddler. "She needs protection,"

The half-dragon stared into her green eyes. They were genuine and full of hope, and even if most of this seemed preposterous, Shyvana had no choice. If there was any chance to break Jarvan free, she had to take it.

She nodded, and both Annies smiled.

* * *

Outside the rune circle, Gregori tried not to cringe as his wife violently threw a fit. She was screaming as she clawed at her own hair so hard she might have pulled a few strands free. The other members of the Gray Order only concentrated on maintaining the rune circle and the barrier, even though he could tell they were wincing at his wife's unkempt attitude.

"_That whoreson!_" her voice rose a pitch, and Gregori thought he had enough. "_That whoreson pried into my mind! He was scrying me!_"

"Enough, Amoline," he gritted his teeth furiously, glaring daggers at her as he mentally willed her to stay calm. But Amoline obviously ignored him.

"He – he saw us, Gregori, all of our secrets. He even –"

"There's nothing Ryze can do. So he's inflicting as much damage as possible, even though he's going to die," Gregori reprimanded. "He wins if he sees you making a scene here. For the love of god, calm the fuck down,"

Amoline's lips curved uglily, but she listened.

The Grey Warlock then returned to the rune circle, which was glowing more brightly with power. Gregori smiled with content. The trap was ready, and it was only a matter of time before he could bind the demon to his will.

All they needed was Shyvana and Ryze's assistance in weakening the djinn. They would be martyrs to their cause.

"Master Gregori," one of the mages called for his attention. Gregori hummed questioningly, prompting him to speak. "The half-dragon is displaying vast amounts of mana energy. And her brain activity spiked,"

His smile died. He reached out with his mind, and watched Shyvana closely.

The mage only stared at Gregori with discomfort, not receiving a reply or given the permission to leave. The warlock's form remained still, his eyes staring ahead, unblinking.

He caught a twitch on Gregori's eyebrow, and that was his cue to leave.

* * *

Ryze could feel the sudden increase of energy in the air. His hands twitched nervously, random bolts of flames and sparks jumping from the tips of his fingers. He felt uncomfortable with the saturation of magic, and the djinn felt it as well, the dark tendrils that spawned from the prince's shadow curling with excitement and ecstacy.

_There's no limit to her power,_ Ryze studied the half-dragon, whose gaze was stoic, and her stance was firm and prepared. Jarvan's eye twitched slightly, and his eyes went from a brilliant blue to sinister black. More smoke and tendrils hissed and curled from the prince's mundane form, his hand steaming with black fire as it curled around his lance.

When he attacked, Ryze's eyes widened with fear. One second, the djinn was just staring at him for afar, hand clenching and relaxing around the shaft of his lance. The next, he appeared in front of him, thrusting his lance upwards.

Ryze formed a shield within half a second. Experience had told him that one should always be patient and calm when casting magic, as it required time and a delicate state of mind to form the spell. But he was neither calm nor thinking straightly now, and the shield he formed shattered instantly, yet strong enough to rebound the thrust that was aiming for his heart.

Black fire spat from the malicious spirit. Ryze suddenly felt very tired, even with the saturation of energy in the surroundings, he knew he could not best the creature.

Shyvana pounced onto the prince, her gauntlets raised. The possessed prince saw her coming, but made no move to block her attack. The djinn then spoke through the prince's voice, a language foreign to their world.

A wall of black flames burst skywards in between the djinn and the half-dragon. Shyvana's form was lit with bright flames, a burnout singeing leaves and twigs that got too close. Ryze's heart lurched to his throat – there was no way Shyvana could survive if she were to crash through the shield that the djinn had conjured.

His worries turned to shock when the demon's shield simply parted, just enough for the half-dragon to pass and land a flaming punch at the prince's head. Jarvan's eyes widened, black pupils glowering with anger and disbelief. Dark tendrils from the prince's shadow shot forward, reaching for the half-dragon.

When the demon's essence touched her, Shyvana's form disintegrated into black smoke. _An illusion, _Ryze realized.

The prince slouched, his back arched like a cornered cat ready to attack. The black flames surrounding the djinn bounced back and forth in agitation as it spoke in hushed whispers and angry tones. The eyes that belonged to the demon darted around, looking for the vanished half-dragon.

Then Shyvana appeared in a flash of light.

Ryze gasped. It was clearly a teleportation spell, and she could displace herself at any moment within a second.

The djinn whipped around so hard it was a surprise its human host did not snap his back. Without hesitation, the prince lunged his lance forward. Another flash of light happened, and the lance only plunged through thin air. Before the djinn knew it, the half-dragon was behind him, hands ablazed with destruction magic.

Shyvana's lips moved, her hands striking gestures that could only resemble a mage casting a spell. Ryze was dumbfounded. She was moving her hands so quickly, like a skilled spellsword who had at least practised destruction magic for more than a decade.

The half-dragon shoved both her hands forward, fingers twisted and curled into the shape of the final gesture for the spell. A storm of fire whipped and stirred in between her palms, and deadly bolts of fire burst from her fingertips, exploding as they touched the djinn's weakly formed shield. It shattered instantly, raining shards of energy remnants that dissipated as they touched the ground.

"The Firestorm, from the Forms of Nine," Ryze muttered reverently, recognizing the spell that was only written in one of the rarest grimoires written by five of the greatest archmages in Runeterra. There were only a few copies left in this world, and the spells inside were not meant for amateurs.

"This cannot be a child's doing," Ryze whispered to himself, watching as the half-dragon summoned all kinds of fire magic, a conflagration that soon endangered the whole forest, brightening the darkness around them. The djinn snarled in frustration, forced to retreat further as his form was damaged by the half-dragon's magic.

His access to Shyvana's mind was blocked, and he could not think of any possible candidates with such powerful magic. Who could it be, the one who was willing to assist them and the half-dragon, and yet had such a devastating power?

* * *

_His form is weakening, _Annie spoke in her mind. Shyvana had no idea how, but she felt empowered, her brain flooded with knowledge and intelligence. Suddenly, she knew every spell and incantations, learnt every tomes and grimoires that she had never seen before. She could clearly see the network of magical energy, dispersed throughout the entirety of this dark, forbidden forest, nodes of mana impulses radiating with power and influence, imploring her to absorb their strength. The djinn barely scared her anymore.

Her hands moved on their own, firing short bursts of flames at the djinn. Each spell was more complex than the previous one, and her mind and body surged with adrenaline, working as one like a well-coordinated machine. Jarvan's body twisted and spun as each spell flew past, yet a few managed to strike him, knocking the lance out of his hand and the dark form around him dissipating a little.

Shyvana felt excited, and eager. She wanted to explore the possibilities of her new abilities, even if they were temporary. Each cast gave her a new sense of wonder, something she had never experienced. Nevertheless, the half-dragon had to restrain herself. She did not wish to hurt the prince, but she knew she could not stop, and so she asked Annie for help.

_Worry not, Lady Shyvana. It's almost done. The djinn can no longer – _

A worrisome hum cut Annie's voice off her mind, and for a while she heard only static noise. The demon had stopped moving, instead snarling and grunting in lethargy and obvious pain. Shyvana watched as Ryze bowed over, both hands clutching in pain, his face turning green as he heaved the contents of his stomach. It was then she felt sick as well, and it was not because of the sight of Ryze's vomit.

On the ground, bright runes and glyphs glowed and simmered. It soon expanded throughout the forest, and its bright glow was difficult to miss, illuminating the entire forest no matter how dark it was. Shyvana was sure cities a few leagues away could see the ominous glow permeating from the eerie forest. Carved runes, markings and ancient writings that weren't there earlier suddenly appeared, and each time a new rune flared with energy, the hum would increase a notch, its pitch higher and amplified. The half-dragon fell to her knees, all energy drained from her.

_Annie. _Did she call out through her mind, or did she scream her name? If it was the latter, her voice was surely drowned. In the midst of confusion, she was swarmed by a fear of the unknown. _Annie!_ She called again, this time louder.

_Please bear with me. Gregori activated the trap. I'm countering the spell!_

Shyvana howled and screamed and snarled, her head twisted and throbbed and pulsed in unimaginable pain. Her stomach churned and twisted, and her throat parched, she heaved and threw up bile onto the searing ground. Ahead she saw the prince falling to his knees, the dark shadows that outlined his body writhing in pain. She wanted to reach out to him, call him, embrace him, just hold him, but each time she moved a muscle a sharp pain shot through her brain –

_Make it stop it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts._

_Please bear with me._

_Hurts hurts hurts can't bear can't move can't stand this kill me please kill me. _

_Please bear with me. I'm linking the prince's conscience to yours. It's your only chance, Lady Shyvana. Please bear with me. _

_Please bear with me. _

_Please bear with me. _

Then, all noises died. Silence. Darkness. Nothing. Her body limp.

Felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing.

A voice. Familiar. Its warmth and reverence breathed life into her.

_Shyvana. _

Suddenly her mind was flooded with memories. Memories that did not belong to her.

* * *

He knew some unseen forces had taken his body, but he did not know what. Just that one moment he was walking towards where he thought Shyvana was, and suddenly he shuddered, like someone breathed a chilly gasp down his neck, and suddenly his senses were no longer his own.

Jarvan was sealed from his own body, locked in a prison in the depths of his mind. He could still see and feel and hear, but another violent entity had taken over his mobility and conscience. He could not know what, but he suspected it to be the djinn.

Refusing to sit down and stay idle, the prince fought against his own cell. He screamed and tried to retake control over his own flesh and blood, but the djinn was resilient, forcing its host to stand down and remain submissive.

_This body is not yours, _Jarvan snarled, not even the slightest bit of fear in his voice.

The djinn chortled. A stab of pain swarmed over the prince, and he bowed down in pain, giving up his hold to his own body. The demon only muttered in a language that was unheard off, but based on the tone of its voice, it sounded rather amused. It only fueled Jarvan's ire, but there was nothing he could do. The prince was powerless against the demon.

_What is a prince but a mundane, powerless mortal?_ The djinn's voice boomed, its tones deep and full of malicious intent. Jarvan stood defiantly, unable to see the demon but remained his composure. The white surrounding of his mind morphed into something wicked – a dark expanse with jagged cliffs and rough slabs of giant rocks. The air was thick and sulphurous, poison melting the prince's lungs. Upon closer inspection, the prince reared back in horror. The walls of the cliffs and rocks were carved with thousands of faces, with three orifices each resembling eyes and mouth that were now empty and hollow. What filled the gulfs in between the damned lands were fiery seas and geysers of poisonous gas.

_You try to scare me, demon. I am a mere human, but I am not so easily frightened,_ the prince howled, baring his teeth to the djinn.

_Empty words, prince, _the demon sneered. _Do tell me, prince, what scares you then? Is it if I bring harm upon the ones you hold dear? _The prince bristled in rage, and the djinn hummed noticeably. _Or is it a shamed and sullied honour, unable_ _to face your nation once again?_

_Those I do not fear, _Jarvan answered honestly, with pride. _The ones I hold dear are more capable than you imagine, terrors like this will not shake them. My honour is already sullied, and I won't return home until I redeem myself. _

The djinn tutted impressively. _How proud of you, prince. What about the fear of the unknown? A glimpse into your grim future?_

Jarvan kept quiet.

_A foreshadowing, Jarvan. I have seen a glimpse of your end. And it will not be merciful. _

The prince gasped. Images shot through his mind, and the djinn forced him to see visions he did not wish to see. A flurry of pictures flared, all dark and gory. Echoes of screams and cries merged into a choir of death, striking terror in the prince's heart.

He saw a dark mass of creatures, emerging from a portal.

Soldiers under banners of different colours cried in unison, fighting a horde of enemies with bodies made of steel.

A large building, blown to cinders. A scream belonging to a dragon.

A babe, wrapped in clothes of blue and gold, with bright blue eyes and wisps of golden hair.

Demacia, in flames and ruins.

Two bloody bodies huddled together but not moving, leaning against an empty well amidst the ruins of a village.

A man, morphing into a six-eyed raven, its black beak picking morsels of flesh off a man.

_Six-eyed raven_, Jarvan's eyes widened in horror. The nightmare that he had had since he was a child, of a man with a limping leg and dark, vicious eyes. Dark wings would burst from his back, spreading ruffles of black feathers everywhere, and his form melted and solidified entirely to another creature, a bird that brought naught but ill omen.

_Such is the frailty of mortality. All these can be avoided if you relent yourself as a vessel to me. Not that you have much of a choice. _

The prince bared his teeth and snarled, swearing to rip the demon apart. _If such is my future, so be it! _As though his words contained power, the hellish environment began to deteriorate. The walls began to crumble, geysers spouted last bouts of acidic streams, before coughing and choking miserable spits of air. The molten seas began to hiss, and the demon snarled as well, clearly displeased by the prince's resistance, but also bothered by something equally irritating.

_I am sensing a huge magical signature. It cannot be you,_ the demon hissed. Hills of moaning souls crumbled to the demon's distressed voice, falling into the sea underneath. Jarvan breathed heavily, finding it a lot harder to take in air without corroding his lungs.

_You are weak, demon. Go back to where you belong while you can._

_I cannot! _The earth rumbles violently, and even the prince staggered a little, feeling the wrath of the entity. _The vile mage binds me here, and now he intends to tame me!_

_Neither will it benefit you if you possess my form. Gregori will still trap you. _

_Then I will desecrate this forest, and take the mage with me. Let him see hell. _The demon howled, before its tone ascended into a crescendo, the hell it had built temporarily began to crumble and fall into nothingness. The prince suddenly felt a sense of clarity, as if the blockage in his mind had cleared, and he felt linked to someone else's conscience. The prison had broken.

A foreign presence beckoned, a presence which he felt a ease with, and not even the demon had the strength to force him to submit anymore.

The demon screamed in protest, but whoever that forced it to remain submissive was a lot more powerful.

The burning seas, the sulfurous air and the rocky cliffs of moaning souls were all gone. All he could see was _her. _

Her. Her mind naked to his eyes alone. Her secrets bare to him to see.

_Shyvana, _he called, relieved. And he knew a tear rolled down his cheeks.

Just as she looked up to him, a huge, devastating swarm of memories bombarded his mind, and he watched – from the moment she was born, loving parents looking and cooing at her as their pride and joy were brought into this world.

He saw all the happy moments she had when she was a child. Even if she was destitute, Jarvan felt like she was the wealthiest child in the world with all those love and care.

Then he saw how she was chased out of her own house by her mother. A sick feeling twisted his heart, and he could only imagine how much pain she had suffered.

And the moment where she watched her father; a full grown Celestial dragon with a body that was once gold, turned into a rusty bronze colour; have his head crushed to bits by a drake disgusted by her existence. He felt what she felt, all her emotions pouring into him and leaving a traumatic mark on him.

He saw himself, the first time they met. And he knew that she felt wary of him, deeming him untrustworthy. But as the memories progressed, her feelings for him changed from pure rejection to suspicion to slow acceptance, then to friendliness. And neither did they know how, but after their unlucky encounter on _The Dead Pool, _she felt love for him.

_Love?_ He gasped. A strong word he dared not use, for he knew he was undeserving of someone else's love for him. His mother loved him unconditionally, but he never appreciated it and took it for granted. He did not want the same to happen to Shyvana. All her life she had had everything taken away from her, and the prince did not want to cause her any more harm.

The memories ended with them at the forest, with her before him. He had no doubt that she had access to all his memories, that she was privy to all his secrets, flaws and sins. Oddly he did not feel discomfort, being so exposed to someone else. Somehow he knew those secrets would always be safe with her, that she would never judge him because of his past.

The connection he felt with her was so real, that they could read each other like an opened book. Sharing his memories with her was like giving a part of his burden away. Jarvan felt like he could breathe again, a heavy weight lifted off his chest.

He could tell that she felt the same. They smiled at each other. Suddenly he didn't feel so lonely anymore.

* * *

Annie Hastur remembered being given the tome that was written by Zilean himself, the revered archmage who was said to have dedicated all his life to time magic. Two months prior, the old man had disappeared mysteriously, without leaving a trace. His office in Urtistan remained untouched.

All that was left on his table was a thick tome, written in codes and encryptions that everyone had failed to decipher. Ryze had tried, and failed, and in the end brought the tome to Annie herself, wanting her to keep it because of its sentimental value to her. Zilean had once trained her when Ryze brought her to him, and she did not deny the emptiness inside her when she realized the disappearance of her teacher.

Annie Hastur read the texts, and decoded the entire tome within a month. She wanted to tell Ryze of her success, but as she read on, she realized that some things were best remained as secrets.

The more she discovered, the more terrified she got. She took great lengths to make sure that no one else, except herself would understood the last secrets of Zilean's research, and so she used her own cipher, and it wasn't long before she could decipher the contents of her teacher's final work.

She realized she could decipher it with ease because it was meant for her eyes alone. Zilean believed no one else but her. His final work was named '_The Paradox We Call 'Fate'', _and inside contained rare spells and all of the old mage's research and practices on time magic, even the recipe for foresight and clairvoyance, but such abilities required great sacrifices.

She was very excited when she saw different recipes and formulae for such spells, until she got to the page that detailed Zilean's theory on alternate timelines and dimensions. That Zilean himself had dedicated his lifetime in looking through the greatest timeline of all.

The timeline of Runeterra, and it was all written in the tome.

Annie was exhilarated, but at the same time, very terrified. He mentioned a predestination loop, that all things were meant to be and not coincidental, that every life had a purpose. If each purpose was not fulfilled as it was supposed to be, the predestination loop would crumble, like how a simple tap on the foot of a pillar could topple an entire building.

Zilean tasked her to ensure this loop was not interfered, and he told her where to find the artifact that would allow her to travel back and forth the timeline without fear of terrible consequences, but in a limited time only.

_You must ensure that the loop is complete, and not interfered. The survival of Runeterra depends on this moment alone, and I have witnessed the destruction that would be wrought unto this world, should any of these events I mentioned are interrupted, altered or changed entirely. The prince and the half-dragon must not die yet, and same goes to the others – Leona, Fiora, Yi... _

Annie felt her shoulders heavy with burden. She remembered meeting the half-dragon in Ionia, her scarred face and prosthetic limbs were a clear reminder of the wars she had endured, and the future wars she still had to fight. But that would be 25 years later. Now she had a task to complete, to tame the shadow demon her father had summoned, and to make sure that the Gray Order would never have their hands on the demon.

Or her younger self.

She had returned to complete the loop. And she will be damned if she failed.

* * *

The demon was beyond frustrated. It had tried all it could to destroy the barrier that barred him from molesting the prince's vulnerable mind, but its powers were weakening, and someone a lot stronger than its summoner was interfering.

It snarled, and spat and hissed and growled. Slammed its dark powers against the damnable barrier, hurled spells after spells to get rid of the border. It was so tempting, the prince's mortal form imploring it, and yet it was now out of its reach.

"Now it's just you and me, demon,"

The demon stopped its violent thrashing, and slowly turned, its dark form disintegrating and reforming, a clear indication that its weak body could no longer hold unless it could find a physical vessel. It felt sick and weak, and it was disgusted to feel intimidated when it was a young woman who faced it, a young woman that was clearly the adult version of the toddler it had seen so many times.

It hissed in its language, but the woman understood. _You interfere me. Remove this barrier at once, before I consume you, even if you come from the future. _

"You are only good at making empty threats. Do you think I do not realize how depleted your energy is?"

The demon snarled, but its form cowered slightly from her. _I am dying. I am forced to this world. Release me from the curse that mage has bound me with! I know you have the power to do this. I will grant you any wish that you desire the most._

"Do you swear to do so?" the woman stroke her chin thoughtfully.

_This I vow to you! A djinn does not make empty promises. _

The woman's clever green eyes gleamed, and she smiled. She lifted her hands and uttered a spell, and suddenly the demon felt free. Its form empowered, all forces returning to its weakening body.

"I will name my wish, djinn, and you shall grant them, unconditionally,"

The demon growled, but did not deny. It was itching to return to its plane.

"My wish is to bind you to Annie Hastur, with all her mind, soul and flesh. Not me, but Annie who is only two years old now. She is now powerless and without magic, and you will give her a share of your power. She will be your charge, and you will remain by her side no matter the cost. You will ensure her safety and survival, whether from her friends or her family, and do as she commands,"

A huge binding spell wound itself around the demon's strengthened form. Her wish was being granted, whether the djinn agreed or not. The djinn screamed, enraged and fearful. _You deceived me! You said you will release me!_

"I did," the woman spoke confidently. "And now you will grant my wish, as you promised. A djinn cannot take back the vows he made, no?"

The demon thrashed, but the bindings held firmly.

"This is the contract between you and me, djinn. And it ends once Annie meets her own end, in natural means and not divine intervention. Once she dies, you will be freed from this world. I curse you to never return home should you ever harm her, do you understand?"

_You make such daring demands, all because you already have a share of my power. You came back in time to ensure your magical strength is embedded in your younger self. I see it now. _

"Everything is predestined," the young woman said matter-of-factly. "And I must compete the loop,"

_You tricked me! _

"I am helping you, djinn, and you will repay your debt," the woman hissed. "With young Annie under your care, you will have to live by a name and a form that suits you. Don't worry, she will grow onto you, just like you will grow onto me several years later,"

The demon protested violently, sparks and flames raining all around it, but the binding spell never faltered. The young woman drew a rune in the air, reciting an ancient compression spell.

"I name you Tibbers,"

* * *

Before the dangerous bolts of lightning that began sparking everywhere could reach him, Ryze had formed a weak barrier around himself. Every spark of energy from Gregori's trap threatened to break his shield, while the prince before him thrashed violently and moaned pitiously.

He was too tired to be curious. All he wanted now was to stay alive. But survival was no longer an option. Annie, whatever she had planned, had obviously failed, and though Ryze had speculated some foreign force other than the toddler was driving Shyvana amok, he did not doubt that their failure was imminent.

Before he could give up, however, the possessed prince threw back his head and arched his back, the whites of his eyes only visible and mouth opened widely in a silent scream. Dark smokes billowed out of his orifices, quickly sucked out like vacuum. The half-dragon stood before him, unwavering, her amber eyes dilated to narrow slits, lips moving as she chanted a spell. A devastating thunderstorm raged within that trap, the violent gusts of winds picking up leaves and twigs from the earth.

Soon a black mass was withdrawn from the prince's body. Upon separated from the demon, Jarvan's body toppled to the ground lifelessly, limp as a wet blanket.

The demon's essence gathered in front of the half-dragon, and Ryze recognized it immediately. It was a compression spell, meant to forcefully change the shape and form of any being.

Shyvana continued chanting, hands moving in slow strokes. The demon writhed to no avail, and soon it submitted, and its form began to shift.

Out of nowhere, thread and twine began to weave by itself, forming patches of brown fabric. These patches sewed themselves together, all the while being filled by the demon's essence. After the compression spell was completed, a harmless teddy bear hummed with the last remnants of runic energy, then dropped to the earth with a gentle thud.

At the same time, all the storms and lightnings stopped. The trap deactivated. Energy depleted, the runes dimmed, only illuminated by an afterglow.

Ryze's shield shattered as he dispelled it. He stared at the teddy bear with a confused look. Was it Gregori's doing? But he knew the half-dragon had successfully foiled his plans. Even an amateur wizard could tell from the dying light of the leftover runes and unused glyphs that the trap had been cancelled halfway, unable to finish its incantation.

But whatever it was, the deed was done. The demon was subdued.

"Ryze," the half-dragon called out, her voice surprisingly calm. When the mage turned to her, he was startled by how her eyes had changed from amber to bright green, glowing with intelligence. "The barrier that Gregori placed is disabled. Teleportation spells are usable now," it was still Shyvana's voice, but it was blatant that someone else was dominating her mind, controlling her body and thoughts.

_The eye is the window to the soul, _Ryze thought. Now he was very convinced that it was not Annie who had successfully breached the half-dragon's mind. Whoever this mysterious person was, he or she had fooled even the leaders of the Gray Order, believing all magical occurences were caused by their daughter whom they thought were born with a natural talent. As much as he hated to admit it, even he himself was fooled.

Ryze wondered how Gregori and Amoline would feel, knowing that someone had possessed their infant daughter's mind all this while and used her to wreck havoc on their plans. Whoever that was, though, Annie was protected from all kinds of hostile situations because of him/her.

"Now is not the best time to daydream, Ryze," Shyvana chided, and the arcane mage snapped out of his thoughts. Shyvana had already lifted the prince's hand over her shoulder, leaning his weight onto her as she half-carried him to an open portal. "The Gray Order will be hot on your heels. I suggest you leave the Noxian borders after teleporting yourself out of safety,"

He looked at the teddy bear on the ground. "What about the demon?"

"Their plans have been foiled. They won't have their hands on it," the prince and the half-dragon stepped into the portal.

Before Ryze could stop them, their forms merged with the swirling darkness within the portal, and the rift closed shut, leaving only silence behind.

With no reason to stay there any longer, Ryze broke out of his reverie, summoned a portal, and vanished from the forest.

* * *

"You are the one that killed those who tried to harm Annie. Even the one who accidentally hurt her," in her mind, Shyvana sat cross-legged before Annie Hastur, who held an artifact the size of a pebble that was decaying every minute.

"It's difficult to remain hidden inside the infant's mind for so long. Every time she feels harmed, I take it as a dangerous approach, and could only react violently. Plus, my parents need to fear the 'power' that their child may have,"

"Yet she is only a normal child,"

"She _was_," Annie emphasized, her cool green eyes never wavered from the half-dragon's intense stare. "Now her powers are real, bestowed by the _gift _I have given her,"

"What gift? The djinn?"

Annie did not answer.

"And so you have been in her mind for..."

"Several months, Lady Shyvana. But now she can fend for herself. As powerful the demon's gift may be, my body grows weak as we speak. I must go back soon, and the artifact is almost at its end,"

Shyvana's curiosity was insatiable. "Can you tell me... about the future?"

Annie blinked, shooting her a warning glare. "Everyone wants to know the future until they know it. I cannot tell, some events are predestined, Lady Shyvana, they are best left as what they are, even if the timeline is driving itself to a destructive end,"

The half-dragon frowned in irritation. "I only wish to know what is ahead of me, if it is tragedy that awaits me in the future. It could have been different if I were on a solo quest. I don't want to drag others into this tragedy with me,"

"You want to avoid getting the prince and his men killed?"

To that, Shyvana gave no reply. But her silence was enough of an answer to Annie's query.

"All tragedies are inevitable, Lady Shyvana," Annie said sadly. "There is naught we can do about it. Some deaths are meant to happen, to set future events into motion. Runeterra will be very different when it comes to my time, Lady Shyvana. It's best we leave it that way,"

"At least tell me how we will meet. What kind of person will I be in the future?"

"An encounter I will never forget," Annie's smile stretched from ear to ear. "You were at Ionia, recovering, and I was called to you. You were in your dragon form to frighten me, but I wasn't afraid. I felt connected to you somehow, like we have known each other long ago, as if we have forged a bond since I was born,"

Shyvana's face only scrunched tighter in confusion. "How is that possible? I only knew Annie Hastur yesterday,"

"Fate brought us together. You, me, the prince and the other champions will play the most important roles in the coming future," the woman stood, dusting her dress as she stared ahead. "I shan't stay long, Lady Shyvana. My task here is complete, I have to go back now,"

The half-dragon stood abruptly, watching as the stark whiteness in the background began to fade away. She felt her link to the toddler severing, and frantically she looked for Annie, who was already slowly fading away.

"I can't bear with the guilt if something were to happen to him. I have suffered all my life, I can't bear this loneliness any longer," she confessed all of a sudden, a desperate plea of help, not knowing what to do. Annie looked on, her green eyes sad and intense.

"You once told me," Annie spoke, before her form dissipate completely, her voice filling her with hope. "That nothing lasts forever. Not even sadness. In the end, the skies will clear,"

With that, everything vanished. And the half-dragon was brought back to the present, where they were at the shores of the town where they had landed. It was already dawn, and when she looked beside her, the prince was sleeping peacefully, his face calm and serene.

* * *

Gregori Hastur did not know whether to consider the mission a success or a failure. The spell for the trap was almost completed when a sudden, unexpected error occurred, one that instantly deactivated the trap and disabled all mana energy in the area. All their psychic link to the forest was severed completely. No one knew what happened in the centre of the trap.

When they got to the scene, the half-dragon and the prince were already gone. Even the rogue mage. All that was left was a teddy bear on the ground. Gregori thought this an insult. But when one of the staff approached it and picked it up to investigate, the staff suddenly seized and fell to the floor, screaming hysterically.

Upon further inspection, they found out that the demon was sealed within the stuffed toy. They brought it back to their labs for experimentation. They could not tell if this was a product of the malfunctioned trap, or if a third party was involved.

Regardless, they sealed the stuffed toy in a vacuum chamber, sensing how volatile the creature that resided inside was. The next day, the chamber was empty, and the Gray Order was immediately placed under lockdown.

Until they found her daughter, Annie Hastur, hugging the stuffed toy, asleep with an innocent face.

When she woke, they tried to remove the teddy bear from her grasp. Several staff tried, and failed. The child screamed and cried, then massive bouts of energy flooded the room, sending powerful psychic impulses to everyone's minds, like a devastating earthquake. The staff immediately escaped, some suffering severe brain damage and stroke.

Amoline was flabbergasted, and afraid. She had no idea what to do. Neither did he. None of them had access to the demon, except Annie.

They were afraid of their own daughter.

Regardless, he had to report to the Archivist of Noxus, a mysterious robed woman who was tasked to keep track of the Gray Order's activities and supervise majority of their projects and research, much to his chagrin. He had told her many times that the Gray Order was an independent movement, and did not wish to have any ties to the Noxian High Command. But the Archivist only said that such actions were necessary, to ensure that the Gray Order was not involved in terrorism under Noxus' name.

"That's what happened, Archivist. We proceeded with the plan that you suggested, but it failed. However, the devil I summoned is now in our hands. I assure you, the Gray Order is the safest place there ever is to house the demon,"

The Archivist sat across him in the secret chamber that only he and the Archivist knew. She scribbled in her journal, her entire body concealed from his eyes. "You mean, the devil you summoned is _in your daughter's hands,_"

"Annie is my daughter," Gregori growled in frustration. "I will nurture her, shape her into the mage I want her to be. She will be my heir and asset to the Gray Order,"

"I wonder if she will still listen to you," the Archivist insinuated. "If she realizes that she has a greater potential than becoming your lapdog, that she can simply overpower you with just a flick of her finger,"

Gregori slammed his mouth shut. He hated being silenced like this, but he knew she was right.

"I will continue to monitor your movements, Gregori Hastur. Who knows, your research one day may benefit Noxus. If so, I will contact you again," the Archivist stood, ignoring the dumbfounded expression on Gregori's face.

"The Gray Order is an independent movement, unrelated to the Noxian –"

"There will be a reelection soon," the Archivist snapped. "Jericho Swain is aiming for the highest position of the High Command, and he will risk everything for it. If Swain succeeds, Noxus will become a very different place,"

Gregori was shocked upon hearing the news. "Then whose side are you on, Archivist?"

"The side that benefits the nation," she answered without a second thought, and exited the room, locking the door behind her.

The Archivist held the journal close to her chest, and she looked down at the frontispiece. _The Journal of Gray Order, _it read. With a wave of her hand, the illusion that she cast upon herself faded, the robe melted to the floor instantly. The woman stood elegantly in her cloak and form-fitting outfit, her raven hair reaching her chin. One hand held the journal, and the other held her staff.

With a wicked grin, the Deceiver walked through the tunnels, heading back to Noxus.

* * *

…. _From what I was told, the plan failed miserably. The target sacrifices all escaped, their locations unknown. On the bright side, however, the demon was sealed successfully, but not as intended. _

_I do not know whether to consider the Gray Order a bunch of witless amateurs, or someone smarted had successfully foiled their plans. Nevertheless, the experiments we run on Annie had shown positive results, and her magical energy level rose exponentially ever since the stuffed toy was in her possession. She seemed inseparable with it, and looks like she was the only person who can touch the toy without being murdered mentally. _

_The Gray Order has a powerful child, She will be a great asset to Noxus, if used by the right hands. I do not believe Gregori and Amoline's ability to mold the child into what she is suppose to be, I suppose when the time comes, I will have to interfere. _

_I will have to act, for the sake of Noxus. And also for the Black Rose. _

_\- The Journal of Gray Order_, recorded by the 'Archivist', a disguise used by Emilia LeBlanc

* * *

**This chapter is the toughest I have ever written. And being pressured by homework and assignment isn't helping. **

**I need your feedback, dear readers. Please leave a review on what you think about this chapter, is it good enough, or is it too confusing? Your comments will help me improve. **

**I apologize in advance if the next update takes months. My finals are coming. Thank you to all of you who read and reviewed the story! I'll see you next time!**


	24. Chapter 24: The Quiet

**Chapter 24: The Quiet**

He woke to the sound of crackling flames and a distinct warmth nearby, eyes still heavy with sleep. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His joints popped, his muscles ached as he rose from his slumber. Oddly, his mind had never felt so invigorated.

Jarvan opened his eyes, and was greeted by the sight of an enormous tree, overlooking him and providing shade from the morning sun. Autumn leaves fell from the tree, floating and gliding until they landed around where he laid. The prince lifted himself up with his palms flat on the ground, and was surprised to feel the rough sands on his skin.

"I was worried you might never wake," she said, flatly. Jarvan turned abruptly and saw that her back was to him, a palm held out as a ball of flame danced around in it. Her eyes were downcast, fixed upon the ground, but he knew her mind was drifted afar.

The prince stretched. He noticed that he no longer donned his armour, save for his greaves and tasset. His breastplate, vambraces and helmet, where a large hole laid instead of a gleaming jewel, were arranged neatly next to him. He was only dressed in his tunic.

She turned to look at him. Her amber eyes burnt fiercely, but this time without malice or suspicion. "Yes, I stripped you. I have to see if you sustained any injuries. Do not worry, I have not taken advantage of the situation. _Yet_," she ranted mirthlessly.

Jarvan narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you reading my mind?"

"What makes you think I can do that?"

The prince remained unconvinced.

Shyvana sighed. "Common sense, prince. In terms of magic, I am about as talented as a fish learning to climb a slope. You were knocked out pretty badly. I woke before you, two hours ago,"

Jarvan grunted, his hand subconsciously reaching for his lance. He used his thumb and prodded the edges of his lance, testing its sharpness. "So we are back at the shores now? What the hell happened?"

The half-dragon blinked, and Jarvan noticed how she was reluctant to answer. "It can't be that bad, can it?" he asked.

"It's a long story, really," she mumbled, playing with the mote of flame in her palm. "What do you remember?"

"Being possessed. Locked away. I felt every surge of strength and power flowing through my body, every movement, but I wasn't in control. And the demon..." he shuddered, voice trailing away.

"How could you be so careless?" the half-dragon reprimanded, and Jarvan's eyes widened slightly. He had expected to be yelled at, or at least given the silent treatment. Instead, she sounded tired, worried, an exasperated sigh tumbling from her lips as her eyes glowed, not burning with anger.

"I'm sorry," he uttered an apology before he even realized it, his head lowered and unable to look at her. The half-dragon's piercing gaze looked through him, as though she can read his thoughts as clearly as an opened book.

In a distant, the town woke. Residents got up and running, merchants prepared their wares and goods to be sold. Shyvana stood, dusting her gauntlets clean.

"We ought to get back, prince. Your men are probably waiting. We have a drake to hunt,"

"A moment," Jarvan muttered, buckling his breastplate. He threw a cloak over his body, covering his golden armour, and he retrieved his lance. "We are running out of time, the drake's trail could have gone cold - "

"_Oh_, don't you worry. I know where he is,"

The prince narrowed his eyes. Shyvana smirked, and held out her hand. A strange device sat in her palm, dormant and unmoving.

"A parting gift from the Grey Warlock," she chuckled.

* * *

They got back to the town square, not expecting to find Alfie and Lance looking around nervously, while August yelled obscenities at a fat, burly man. Judging from his appearance and outfit, that man was a shaman, or a priest at least, specialized in the arts of healing. His mat was laid with pots and bottles of potions and elixirs, and rare herbs and alchemical ingredients.

Alfie saw them first, and he waved nervously. Shyvana kept her head low, not wanting anyone to catch a glimpse of her face.

August's face had turned beet red, a vein throbbing on his forehead in sheer anger. He was gesturing wildly and screaming at the fat man, and this drew the eyes of the other townspeople. Jarvan walked quickly, and stood in between both men before a fight could break out. Knowing August's temper, something drastic was bound to happen if he did not stop him.

"Good day, friends," the prince held out both hands in a placating manner. August's anger abated a little upon seeing the prince, but Jarvan simply feigned ignorance, pretending that he did not know him so that the shaman would not feel that he was siding him. The shaman however, looked like he was ready to pounce, glaring up and down the newcomer who had barged into their business.

"What do you want? Can't ya see I'm busy 'ere?!" the shaman roared.

"Whatever it is, let's solve it rationally, like good men. May I ask, what the ruckus is all about?"

"This man is what it's 'bout!" the shaman pointed an accusing finger at August and howled. Jarvan couldn't help but detect the faint, distinct Bilgewatian accent in his voice. "He bought my wares the night before! And now he accused me of sellin' him poor goods! How am I to know, if it be him who poisons and rots my herbs and elixirs, on purpose?!"

"_Fraud_!" August spat. "The night before I stocked on healing salves and potions, for my oncoming journey, even a few willowroots and mandrake sap. This morn I wake to find the bottles empty, and the mandrake sap flowed like tree sap instead! Turns out the bottle was an _enchanted gas flask_! _Give me back my gold!_"

From the corner of his eyes, Jarvan noticed Shyvana snickering to herself.

August shoved an empty bottle in the prince's face, then lifted his hand high to show everyone who had gathered around. The crowd mumbled in agreement, and some looked on and sneered in disapproval.

"This man spits lies like a snake spits venom!" the shaman noticed the crowd siding August, and so he bellowed in defense. "Pray tell, will anyone defend this poorly merchant, who came all the way from Shurima – "

"_He's lying_," Shyvana whispered for the prince to hear. Jarvan nearly flinched, feeling her hot breath behind his ear.

" - to this sodden town to help the people in need, just to be shamed and framed? Will anyone help me testify?! This ill-mannered man threatens me to give 'im back his money! I have proof!" he showed his bottles and herbs to the crowd. "These bottles ain't the same as the one he brought! Come and feel and see for yourselves, if you ain't believin' me!"

"Look behind his tent," Shyvana whispered again. Jarvan obliged. "Look at his caravan. Six horses. All saddled and set to go,"

She was hinting at something, and the prince did not miss the mischief in her voice.

"What are you planning?"

She ignored him. "I _know _Shuriman accent, and his is far from it. Look at his garb, and his caravan. What part of it looks _Shuriman_ to you? He is obviously a charlatan,"

"What are you, a Shuriman expert?"

She snorted, then spoke in fluent, rapid Shuriman, albeit in its bastard tongue. The prince shut up immediately.

"I can prove his innocence!" a man stepped forth from the crowd. "He helped me with my ailments and illness, his potions are true!"

Another woman raised a hand. "I purchased his herbs and ingredients. They are authentic, plucked fresh from the wild!"

Shyvana stroked her chin. "Well, witnesses are not hard to buy," she murmured.

August fumed. Jarvan pretended to stroke his beard, in deep thought. Behind him, the mysterious hooded figure had slipped into the crowd like a shadow, yet no one paid her any serious attention.

"So," the so-called shaman raised his chin, looking at August arrogantly. "I have two witnesses to stand for me, what do you have to say in this?"

August clenched his fists, but there was nothing much he could do.

Jarvan cleared his throat. "One question, my friend. That woman mentions that your herbs are fresh from the wild. Then, do tell me, where did you harvest these willowroots?"

"Do you doubt its authenticity?" the shaman retorted, anger evident in his tone.

"How would we know if those two witnesses are not in league with you?"

The shaman shut up. The buzz in the crowd grew.

"East of the Great Barrier," the shaman answered. "Where the shrouds grow thick and the most vicious monsters prowl, I plucked 'em on my way 'ere, alone,"

The prince's eyes turned to the caravan, where all the goods were. He looked at the wooden wheels of the giant, metal caravan, reddish brown dirt covering its hinges and steel bolts. _Rust._ He studied the shaman's garbs – long robed, mud-coloured like any traditional Shuriman would dress, but the soles of his boots were slightly spiked and full of grooves, unlikely to be worn to travel across sandy regions or rocky paths.

Jarvan had only seen those boots once, and only recently. Worn by sailors and pirates alike, to avoid slipping upon the wet deck.

"You must be a courageous man," Jarvan retorted. "To travel the Great Barrier alone. Yet, how is it that you have a Bilgewatian accent?"

The crowd fell silent. All watched the banter between the prince and the shaman. They all looked at the self-proclaimed healer for an explanation, whose eyes had grown as wide as saucers.

Before he could be shamed any further, a scream pierced the air.

"_Fire!_" a young girl screamed. A jet of flames shot through the sky, and it wasn't long before everyone realized that an empty cart next to the shaman's was caught ablaze, fire spreading rapidly. The crowd screamed, merchants yelled and shoved passers-by aside, frantically rushing back to their stalls before the fire could destroy their wares. The town square went into a frenzy. Smoke billowed into the sky. People ran and shoved each other.

The shaman shouted for help. The rear of the caravan had caught fire. The horses whinnied and reared back. He ran to fetch a bucket, and tried in vain to put out the fire.

Jarvan looked around frantically for the half-dragon. August and Alfie were nowhere to be seen, and then the horses were suddenly freed from their reins, buckling and screaming in terror as they felt the heat. A figure, then two more, climbed onto the back of the horses, unbeknownst to the shaman, and began kicking the horses' hinds to get them moving.

"Jarvan!" one of the figures yelled, and below the hood he saw the mischievous grin of the half-dragon, one hand holding the horse's reins and the other thrown in the air in sheer excitement. "Race you to the end!"

"What have you done?!" the prince shouted, obviously displeased with her actions. The other two, which he recognized as August and Lance, had already rode off in the distance, their thundering hooves cutting a path through the screaming crowd.

"Prince! Quickly!" Alfie swiftly climbed onto a horse, pulling the reins of another horse that buckled frightfully. He led the horse to the prince, and Jarvan had no choice but to follow the half-dragon's crazy plan.

Alfie released the reins, and Jarvan caught on easily, nearly thrown off his feet by the horse's speed. Another hand grabbed the saddle tightly, and with a strong huff he hauled himself onto the saddle, kicking the horse's hind to speed up. His men had already sped off, heading out of town and following the half-dragon's lead.

The prince shook his head, and made his escape.

* * *

He caught up with them once he rode a few hours out of town, down the road that led deep into the forest at the foot of the Ironspike. The rest of the stolen horses were tied to a tree, his men dismounted and taking a drink. Lance watered the horses, and the half-dragon was nowhere to be seen.

He hopped off his horse, a black stallion with a wonderful coat. Lance led it to the rest of the horses without a word, knowing his prince was displeased.

"Where is Shyvana?" he asked August, who was chewing on a fig.

"Up a tree, somewhere," August answered nonchalantly. "We have to keep riding, and find shelter before sundown. I have no doubt that charlatan had sent someone to get back his horses,"

"We shouldn't have done that," the prince reprimanded.

"Ask the beast, it was her idea. Nonetheless, she taught that lying son of a whore a lesson," August sipped from his skin.

Jarvan snorted. "You actually approve? Stealing is a crime, August,"

"So is selling false goods, but I don't see any justice being served back there," the soldier hacked a glob of phlegm and spat onto the grass. "The longer you stayed there, the bigger the risk of you being exposed. The last thing we need is Noxus knowing you're here,"

The prince said nothing. He strode off, fuming, looking for the half-dragon.

* * *

Shyvana felt exhilarated. Until she heard the angry stomps below, and she took a peep, seeing the prince walking towards the tree where she sat leisurely.

"Shyvana!" he shouted. "I know you are up there!"

The half-dragon rolled her eyes, and pushed a few branches aside. "Did you have fun back there? The rush of adrenaline?" One end of her lip curled in a smirk, which only fueled the prince's anger.

"_We acted like criminals!_" Jarvan yelled, his brows quirked in incredulity. Shyvana sighed in exasperation, and hopped down the tree, landing on her heels gracefully. The prince's face was flushed red, his chest heaving with each breath.

She did not meet his gaze, but there was not a trace of guilt in her eyes. Jarvan huffed, his eyes glaring at her and daring her to say a word.

"There's no point arguing back then," she shrugged. "That merchant was an illusionist, I found this totem at the back of his cart," she held a small wooden item, and tossed it to the prince.

Jarvan caught it in midair, and studied it. Runes decorated the wooden totem, and it radiated waves of heat, indicating that it was used not long ago. The prince channeled a bit of his mana energy into the totem, and found it pulsing in his hand. Images began to appear around him, distorting reality and forming things that weren't really there.

He cut off his mana energy. The totem died and the images disappeared.

"Believe me, that wasn't the only thing I found in his cart. There are stuff from Bilgewater, and the emblem that resembled the Golden Idol used by Illaoi."

"Nagakabouros," Jarvan muttered. "He's a kraken priest,"

The half-dragon gave a solemn nod. "What more, we were in a hurry. And he has horses..."

"You caused quite a ruckus back there,"

"You're saying?" she crossed her arms over her chest, and raised her chin in defiance. "You didn't cause a ruckus when you did that to the stable boys back in Demacia? Who do you think I got the idea from?"

A memory resurfaced in Jarvan's mind, and he tried to suppress a laugh at that encounter. "How did you..."

"We connected," she strode over the tree and sat, leaning her back casually against the huge trunk of the tree. "I saw your memories – your birth, your childhood, your enlistment into the military, everything," she patted the spot beside her, and the prince complied, sitting beside her.

"And so did I," he whispered in awe, his anger forgotten. "What did you see?"

"Many things. How spoilt you were when you were a child, that you were fed with a golden spoon, and your childhood memories with a boy of your age with chestnut brown hair, and a young girl with golden hair. That's Lux, right?"

Jarvan nodded, and encouraged her to go on.

"You were always running away from your lessons, and you pull pranks on your tutors, especially the one with thinning hair and a pot belly,"

"Master Liberius who taught me sums and accounts. He's a man with an ill temper, and uses any chance to lick my father's boots. He's a vile man,"

Shyvana smirked. "And you decide who gets punished and who doesn't, even if you were just a child? "

"My parents were too busy to care. Xin Zhao was the one who disciplines me, my father gives him the authority,"

"The Ionian?"

"He has those features," the prince placed most of his weight against the tree, watching as the sun began its descent. Had it been so late already? "I tried asking my king father how he came into his service. He was in the Demacia court ever since I was born, and was already part of the Inner Circle,"

"Inner Circle?"

"Demacia's small council, that consists of all the ministers and governors that governed Demacia, held by the greatest and most honorable houses of Demacia," he explained quickly. "Xin Zhao carried out the punishments whenever I went against the tutors, or skipped my classes,"

Then the prince turned to the half-dragon, their eyes fixed upon each other. He went closer, their noses almost touching. Shyvana, surprised, only glared back and frowned slightly. She did not miss his grin, and she tried her best not to look flustered, being so close to the prince.

"And he would do this,"

Suddenly his hand was in between her eyes, his middle finger held behind his thumb. He flicked his finger, pain snapped upon her forehead. She hissed and reared backwards, hitting the back of her head on the tree trunk.

She rubbed her forehead painfully. Jarvan laughed hysterically.

"You son of a bitch!" she yelled, one hand still held to her forehead. If looks could kill, Jarvan would have dropped dead to the floor. He only kept laughing, hands held upon his stomach.

The prince barely flinched at her glare, and only laughed harder until tears spilled from his eyes. It went on for a full minute until Shyvana shoved him aside, making him topple with his back on the grass. His laughter eventually stopped, and Shyvana wouldn't stop mumbling curses at him.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he apologized, got off his back and went to the half-dragon. One hand reached out for her shoulder and he turned her around, and his hand automatically went for her face, his thumb brushing endearingly against her forehead even though he was muffling his giggles. "Does it still hurt? Really –"

Before his other hand could touch her cheek, she flinched and leaned away from him. Jarvan noticed and froze. Her expression went from pure irritation, to shock, then to sudden realization.

His grin died, and he looked at her, confused. Her eyes were downcast and apologetic, and she did not move away further.

The silence between them was awkward. No one spoke. They waited for the other to say anything.

"Remember what you said that night," she whispered. Her voice was full of remorse and regret. "That night when we were out alone in the sea,"

_You are promised to her. _

_Everything ends._

_Tonight. Just for tonight, we'll have each other._

Then Jarvan understood. He gave a slight nod, and backed away. "I'm sorry if I ever caused you discomfort,"

"You never did," she brushed away his apology. "I am the one to blame. I shouldn't have... given in to my feelings. It's best for the both of us if we end it now, before it progresses further. It hurts less this way,"

_You have no idea,_ Jarvan avoided her gaze.

Shyvana stood suddenly, and dusted off her behind. "It's late evening. We should set up camp soon. I've checked, we are only three leagues away from the Ironspike Mountains,"

"I thought you intend to sleep on a tree,"

"And get backaches?" she snorted. "We need to save as much energy as we can for what's coming,"

* * *

They helped to set up camp, digging small trenches around for safety measures. A huge fire roared in the middle, and Lance made meals for everyone. They all sat in a circle around the fire, and Jarvan looked at the meagre amount of people that was left of his company.

_The proud twelve who took up arms with me. My brothers, and now only three are left,_ his mood went bitter within seconds, and accepted a plate from Lance. They kept their weapons close, wary of their surroundings of the unfamiliar terrain.

"We haven't got much rations left," Lance reported. "We need to hunt soon,"

"How long can we last?" August asked, his pox-scarred face was ridden with irritation and grim.

"Three days. Five, if we cut down our consumption and have one meal per day,"

"We're heading deep into the drake's lair, aren't we," Alfie asked, looking at the prince.

"Only a few leagues left and we'll reach the foot of the Ironspike," Shyvana answered. "We will have to hike the range on foot. Some trails may be too narrow for horses,"

"The Ironspike Mountains is a wide range. Do you intend to search every nook and cranny? We haven't got much supplies left," August snapped.

The half-dragon's eyes gleamed with fury. "That is because you wasted every last coin on useless potion sold by a fraudulent merchant. Haven't you got the wits to at least buy some ration then?"

"We used up all our medical supplies because you were _dying_ and the prince insisted to save you,"

"I did not ask to be saved!" Shyvana roared.

"You ingrate!" August shouted as well, unafraid of the dragon's fury. "If you wish to die so much, leave the prince out of this. Many of our men died _because of you_!"

_That's because he refuses to leave me alone!_

That was what came into her mind, but she held herself back, only glaring at August with her amber eyes. She hated the man dreadfully from his face to his hateful personality, but she had no intention to hurt the prince anymore.

She kept quiet, swallowing her pride and her anger. The half-dragon inhaled sharply, trying her hardest to suppress her anger and looked away from August before she could punch him in the face. She knew the prince was looking at her, waiting for her to snap back. They both knew she was extremely hot-headed, but what he didn't know was that she felt responsible for the deaths of his men.

Before she met the prince she wouldn't have cared less. Before she knew him, she wouldn't have given a damn about the blood that was on her hands, even though she may be part of the reason they died.

But now she hated herself for the mess Jarvan was in. How many times had he and his men risked their lives for a stranger?

"Nothing to say?" August snarled. "This is all your fault, half-dragon,"

"August, enough," Jarvan hissed. The soldier stopped bickering, but his glare remained. "We need to save as much energy as possible for what is about to come. It won't be an easy battle,"

The rest of the meal went on in silence. The prince and the half-dragon did not look at each other, not even once.

* * *

Shyvana went to the river as the men cleaned up and prepared to hit the sack. She wasn't expecting Lance to be at the river, collecting water for his skins and the horses.

They had never talked to each other, unlike how she had always bickered with August and spoke to Alfie once. Lance had always avoided her, and only addressed her as a third person. She always thought he was afraid of her in some way, but she soon realized that it was more than that.

She did not turn back nor walk away from him. She approached the river, knowing that she had no need to fear him. Why would a dragon be afraid of a human?

She uncorked her waterskin, and dipped it into the water to refill it. Lance stood three feet to her right, and the awkwardness in the air was so thick she swore she could slice through it. Lance washed his wares and refilled his canteens, filling buckets of water to water the horses. He did nothing to acknowledge her, as though she did not exist, but she knew she noticed one of his thumbs fiddling the hilt of his dual swords strapped at his hips.

Shyvana sealed her waterskin and started walking back to the camp.

"Half-dragon,"

She stopped. Lance knew her name, but he refused to use it. What she could not understand was that his voice was free of fear or snide, unlike Alfie and August.

The dragon inside her stirred in curiosity. She turned to the soldier, her amber eyes glowing brighter under the twilight sky. She made sure to bare her fangs when she spoke, testing his response. "Yes?"

Lance's face remained indifferent. In fact, she couldn't see a hint of fear or disgust in his composure. The soldier's green eyes stared into hers, unblinking, and she knew this man was not what he seemed to be.

"I'm sorry for what August said earlier. The truth is he despises you,"

His tone did not sound sorry. His words were straightforward. "As if I don't know that," she retorted, her eye twitched with irritation.

"Only because he wishes the best for the prince," Lance continued. He placed both of his hands in front of him, to show her his sincerity. "Just like any of us will. Just like you will,"

She gave no reply.

"We know the prince is infatuated with you –"

"Stop beating around the bush," she snapped.

" – so stop leading him astray," Lance finished.

Shyvana was dumbfounded, her mouth opened slightly. Her mind was blank for half a minute.

"I don't know if you ever reciprocate his feelings. I don't know if you're using him for your own agenda. I don't care either. But if you're getting him killed, I'll have to stop you there,"

Her anger flared, her draconian side surfaced a little. "_You don't know who I am,_"

Lance did not flinch. His hands did not reach for his weapons either.

"You're right," he nodded. "At the prince's behest, we will help you slay the drake, no matter how dangerous it would be. But I beg of you, please,"

Shyvana's eyes widened. She felt the hint of desperation in his voice.

"Don't let him die with you. He is the Crown Prince of Demacia, we have to bring him home,"

The half-dragon was at a loss of words. They stood in silence for half a minute, before she inhaled sharply and spoke. "You are brave to make demands with me. Are you soldiers not afraid of death?"

"I've been a gambler my entire life," Lance answered swiftly. "I'm ready to put my life at risk, any time, anywhere,"

He lifted the buckets of water and walked towards the horses, leaving her dumbfounded.

* * *

The prince sat in the middle of the camp, poking the embers of the extinguished campfire with a stick. He had offered to take the first watch and asked his men to get some rest, which some of them insisted to do it with him. Jarvan insisted that he wished to be alone to his thoughts, and eventually his soldiers reluctantly agreed.

He watched the tent where Shyvana slept. He knew that even while sleeping she would never take off her gauntlets, but at least she had trusted them enough to sleep in a tent, instead of being on a tree and spying their every move.

His thoughts drifted to her. A sudden pang of guilt struck him. Instinctively, his hand clutched his chest, and he could not deny how dreadful he felt now, as if something had gone missing.

The prince sighed, shook his head and took out a map. He stoked the flames of the fire pit, and placed rocks at all four corners of the map to look at it better. He studied the mountain ranges of the Ironspikes, known for its jagged peaks and harsh climates, and home to countless beasts and wildlife. He would not waste his time wallowing in self-pity, and decided to come up with a plan to face the drake.

_The mountain range is wide, how do we lure the drake?_

As his finger stroked against the mountain range on the map, Shyvana's tent shuffled, drawing his attention. His hand reached for his lance automatically, but he relaxed when he saw the half-dragon climbing out of the tent, dressed in simple tunic and breeches with her hair bare and untended.

The fire reflected the light in her eyes. As expected, her gauntlets gleamed, the edges sharp enough to cut metal.

Jarvan tried to smile as warmly as he could, but it felt forced. "Can't sleep?" he asked kindly.

The half-dragon approached the fire, and sat down opposite him. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing embers. A few seconds passed before she replied the prince.

"I don't intend to,"

"Aren't you tired?" Jarvan asked, concerned with her well-being. "You should at least replenish your energy, we can't let our guard down,"

"If there's a chance I may die tomorrow," she protested. "I don't see the point of sleeping my last few hours away. I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts,"

The prince looked away from the dying embers, and he met her gaze. His blue eyes were solemn, and he sighed. "Pessimism won't do us well. We will make it out alive, together. There are five of us against a dragon. The odds are in our favour,"

Shyvana smiled woefully. "Have you slain a dragon before?"

Jarvan, caught off guard, swallowed before answering. "No. But tomorrow will be the first,"

The half-dragon laughed, but it was hollow and devoid of humour. "Ever the pompous prince,"

"Ever the hot-headed, stubborn and pessimistic half-dragon," he blurted out. Surprisingly, Shyvana smiled instead of knocking him back and strangling him for that comment. Jarvan soon broke into a grin as well, chuckling slightly.

"You are not wearing the cloak," Shyvana stated. Jarvan knew which cloak she was referring to – the one with her father's hide, the last remnants of her father's existence. The prince's fingers reached into his rucksack, and stroke the beautiful hide briefly, feeling its hard scales sewn to the leather fabric.

"It's not a cold night," he commented. "Do you want it back?"

She shook her head. "It would serve you well. If the drake were to breathe fire upon us, the first one to die would be you. You need every bit of protection you can get,"

He snorted. "You do know that I am wearing armour to fight the drake, right?"

"Dragonfire melts even steel and metal," Shyvana explained. "It's the only fire that can burn through a dragon's hide after long exposure. I can endure it, you will be black as coal instead,"

Jarvan shrugged, knowing that she won the argument.

"I'm not giving it to you," she warned. "I'll want it back. So don't get it ruined. Stay alive and stay out of that beast's breath,"

The prince chuckled. "Then make sure you stay alive as well, so I can return it to its rightful owner,"

He took a broken branch and began poking at the flames, pretending to have his attention on something else. He could feel the half-dragon's gaze on him, that she was watching him and had something in mind but did not know how to express it. He gave her time to compose her words.

"Jarvan," she finally spoke. The prince hummed, letting her continue.

"I hope it is not too much to ask," she began. "Can you promise me one thing?"

"The half-dragon makes a request?" he joked, but faltered when he saw how sombre her expression was.

"Tomorrow, if everything goes south, promise me you will stay out of harm's way,"

The prince drew in a shaky breath. "But what about –"

"_If_," Shyvana emphasized. "I'm trying to be optimistic here. Don't worry about me, I'll find a way to get out of it. You and I know I've been in all kinds of sticky situation since birth,"

He remembered the memories that belonged to her, and something piqued his curiosity. "You said you'll go to Ionia if all these is over. Is it because there's someone there waiting for you?"

Shyvana's eyebrows knitted, obviously irritated. "Don't try to avert the subject,"

"I've seen your memories," he continued, ignoring her. "A man dressed in traditional Ionian robes. Grey hair and grey beard that reached his chest. Someone by the name of _Ao Shin_, who is he?"

"Why would that matter to you?" she snapped. "I've seen thousands of strangers in my life, are you going to question each and every one of them?"

"That man," he insisted. "Is no stranger to you. When you are in my head, you felt what I felt too, did you not?"

The half-dragon let off an exasperated sigh, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the conversation. She nodded slightly.

"I felt your emotions. You feel a sense of belonging to that man, that's why you plan to head to Ionia if we ever make it out alive,"

"There are other reasons as well," the half-dragon admitted. "He... he knows about my father,"

"He's not human?"

"I doubt it," she scratched her chin subconsciously. "Probably a Celestial being,"

The prince looked up to her. Out of the blue, he felt melancholic for no reason, but it was not his place to tell her what to do and where to go. "If that's what you want, I wish you luck on your journey,"

"Jarvan –"

"Just to let you know, the offer still stands," his voice trembled slightly. "Demacia will welcome you with open arms, I promise you,"

"It's tempting, really," she confessed. "But just because you accept me, it doesn't mean the rest of the citizens will. I may remain an outcast, for all I know,"

"You'll be given a chance to prove yourself," he argued. "You can prove yourself just as loyal and capable as any other human in the army,"

Shyvana shook her head. "Humans reject whatever that is different from them," her lips quivered as she held his gaze. "But so far, you're the first to prove that wrong,"

She stood, dusting off the grass and dirt off her breeches. The prince's eyes stayed on the dying embers, once again wondering what would be their fate tomorrow. He then looked at the half-dragon, who was heading back to her tent, and called out to her.

"Shyvana,"

She looked back, and he was once again mesmerized by how beautiful her eyes were – shimmering ambers beneath the moonlight.

"I promise you that I'll stay out of harm's way, so keep yours as well,"

She smiled, a genuine and lovely smile. He captured that image and committed it to memory, knowing that he would want to remember it forever. Unbeknownst to himself, his lips curled in the tiniest of smiles as well.

"Know that I'll miss you terribly, prince," she confessed. "And that I love you as well,"

He watched her turn back, but he did not see the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

* * *

In his years as a soldier, who had served the throne for all his life, he had never felt this restless. He must admit that he barely slept at all last night, and instead spent the hours trimming the feathers on his arrows and stringing his bow.

They began their hike up the trail early in the morning. Alfie could feel the nervous vibes trembling in the air. August kept a stoic face, as usual, but his hand stayed at his bludgeon at all times, the other clenching the reins tightly. Lance seemed nonchalant, but Alfie knew he felt jittery as well – his fingers fiddled way too often.

They had never fought a drake before. To be honest, they had barely seen one up close.

Alfie watched as the prince and the half-dragon rode side by side, a map in the prince's hands. He saw something in the half-dragon's palm - an orb or something, but he paid no further attention. It has been hours since they trotted up the mountain trail, and the weather was beginning to worsen. Alfie looked up to see the sun hiding behind clouds, dim enough to be stared by naked eyes. He frowned – it was way past noon.

Alfie lightly tapped the heel of his boot against his horse's rear, and rode beside August and Lance. "The weather's dimming, August. I fear a downpour is imminent,"

"That would be most unfortunate," August rumbled.

"We can turn misfortune to our advantage. Rain will dull the drake's sense of smell," Lance refuted.

"We are really fighting a dragon today, aren't we?" Alfie asked rhetorically.

"The prince won't back down," August sighed. "As much as I disagree, we must serve him without question,"

"After that?" Lance asked.

"We go home," August's eyes remained on the road.

"I wish it were that simple," the gambler mumbled.

"If we get out of this alive, the prince should promote you, lad," August nodded at Alfie. "Staying with the scouts and rangers won't get you anywhere,"

Alfie looked down with embarrassment. "My skills have proven most beneficial to the Demacian Scouts. It would be a loss to them if I leave,"

"We have another name for the scouts, lad," Lance leaned in and whispered coyly. "Messengers and envoys,"

"Join the Elite Guard, Alfie," August suggested. "I have no doubt you will do well,"

"I cannot bear this honor, August," Alfie flustered.

"The Vice Commander has bore it well so far," Lance slapped August's shoulder plates playfully. August only snorted, the frown on his face deepened.

"I threw that title away the moment I joined the prince's company," he snapped, obviously irritated at Lance. "I doubt Commander Spiritmight took that lightly. We left the kingdom in the middle of the night without a trace, or a warning There's no telling what the _king _would do,"

Ahead of them, Shyvana stopped. They pulled on their reins, and their horses remained still.

"You sensed something?" Jarvan asked quizzically.

"No," her eyes were fixed on a tree. "Just a mark,"

They looked at what she was staring – a huge claw mark on a giant tree. The grass grew sparse as they hiked higher and deeper into the mountains, but they could clearly see the singed marks on the grass. August rode towards the tree, dismounted and inspected the trail possibly left by the drake. They followed behind him.

"I smell burnt grass," Shyvana said. "And blood,"

"No moss gathered in the claw marks," August touched the bark of the tree.

"Under such moist weather, you would expect moss to grow within two to three days," Lance said. "It's recent,"

"The drake has been hunting," Alfie concluded.

They all looked at him, with puzzled expressions.

"There is no sign of life here," Alfie explained. He spurred his horse, riding further down the road to confirm what he saw from afar. They rode towards him as well, and was met with the sight of a mangled leg that belonged to an elk.

August touched the blood on the mangled leg. "The blood has gone cold, but not dried. It has only been a few hours,"

"Keep your guard up," Jarvan drew his lance. "He could be anywhere. We can still sneak up on him and attack –"

Alfie saw something, and he immediately drew his bow and arrow, pulling the string taut and aiming at the sky. The others were alarmed, and stayed vigilant to their surroundings. In her hand, the weird orb began glowing brightly.

"He knows we are here," the half-dragon dismounted, and the rest did the same, drawing their weapons and looking around for the drake. The horses reared and whinnied, obviously sensing danger around them. Grass swayed, but the silence was too suspicious. A gale whistled by.

The sound of thunder shook the skies, then followed by an enraged, blood-curdling roar.

* * *

**Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you so much for being patient! **


	25. Chapter 25: The Skies Will Clear

**Chapter 24: The Skies Will Clear**

_Life is a fragile thing. Weak, yet precious. But death is permanent. _

The skies above the Ironspike Mountains had darkened instantly, implying an omen. Lightning flashed, and the clouds shifted from soft white to evil grey, thick and heavy with rain. Every blade of grass swayed to the howling gale, trembling in fear. Heavy branches sagged, as though bowing down to whatever tremendous power that the sky may bring.

Bunnies hopped away frantically. Squirrels and lizards scurried back to their homes. Deer and doe wailed and trotted back into the green. Wildlife scattered not because of the imminent thunderstorm. Something loomed in the area, its presence dark and bringing out fear in every living being. The heavy downpour foretold their appearance.

"Blood will shed here," Lamb spoke first, her dainty fingers fiddling her bowstring. Her other half, Wolf, drifted around her aimlessly, his eyes glowing dimly with boredom. The Kindred were here, and death came with them.

"Whose game, little Lamb?" Wolf rumbled. "Yours or mine?"

"That depends," Lamb spoke, her words a whisper in the wind, inaudible to those who reside outside the plane of oblivion. Lamb, the rational part of the Kindred, had her eyes on the horizon – a large black mass loomed and flew to the skies, its roar reverberating throughout the mountain range. "This one's rather volatile, unstable. I do not know how this one would react to demise,"

"Only one, little Lamb?"

She gave a subtle nod. "Just one,"

"Was hoping for more," Wolf grumbled, his wisps of smoke trembling and shivering with energy. Lamb's counterpart was easily affected by emotions, mainly excitement for hunt, and anger when left hungry for too long. Lamb could only watch her dear Wolf longingly every time he fed whenever someone rejected death, how he fed with eagerness and joy and satisfaction – something that Lamb could never feel. If possible, she would be happy for him. Wolf was most annoying when he was hungry.

"One will have to do for now, dear Wolf," her ears twitched, and Wolf grumbled. "It appears we have company,"

"Deathsinger," Wolf said disdainfully. Karthus appeared immediately before them, in his ceremonial robes and headdress, his sceptre and tome by his either hands. Ominous light glowed from his eye sockets, and he took in the sight of the Kindred.

"Kindred," Karthus sang. "Whose soul have you come to hunt today?"

"That is none of your concern," Lamb spoke sharply. Wolf grunted. "Do not think of yourself as an angel of death, you neither reap souls nor decide who dies,"

"Do you?" Karthus snapped. "You only return souls where they rightfully belong. You have no say about who dies or who lives,"

"What makes you think we can stand as equals?"

"We know who dies today," Karthus grinned. "The difference between us is that I can make death more painful, and you give them a choice to rest peacefully or suffer eternally,"

Lamb could feel Wolf's irritation – he was gnashing his teeth way too often. There had been too many times when Karthus interfered them by reaping the soul they were suppose to collect. Any soul that would be in Karthus' possession would forever be bound to him, to be a slave to his pains and woes just so he could feel none. He had no care for karma – any soul, evil or good, is the same to him. This was against the Kindred's principle - to let them choose the way they would end, and to this Lamb was deeply disgusted.

"That does not make you a deity. You are just a remnant of the cursed Isles," Lamb's fingers stroked the bowstring. If she could shoot Karthus in the head, she would, but she lacked the anger to do so.

"True," Karthus agreed. "But why is it I am the only demon of the Shadow Isles that can see the Kindred?"

Wolf growled. Lamb had no answer to his question.

"We won't let you collect this soul. This one's suffered too much and deserves a choice," Lamb warned.

"This one sinned just as much as all that has been endured. This soul deserves to suffer in the afterlife,"

"You are nothing," Wolf leered.

"Shall we fight for it then?" Karthus waved his sceptre, barely afraid of Wolf's gnashing teeth and burning aura. "A fair competition?"

Lamb chuckled. "You won't win," she said confidently.

* * *

Thunder shook the skies. A piercing roar reverberated through the earth. All five of them drew their weapons, standing back-to-back and locating the source of the sound.

Rain started falling.

"Alfie, position!" Jarvan commanded.

"Not in sight, sire," Alfie answered. Shyvana swore she heard his voice shaking, but his hands were steady on his bow and arrow. He scanned the entire sky, looking for a hint of the drake's whereabouts.

The drake roared again, this time it sounded too close to them. They all covered their ears, and out of nowhere the drake emerged, shooting towards the dark clouds and beating his wings furiously.

Even for a drake, he was huge. His crest was sharp like swords, every black scale as hard as armour forged from pure Ionian steel. His spiked tail lashed back and forth as he stopped midair, and glided right above Jarvan and his company, acknowledging their presence. The drake's head was crowned with sharp twisted horns, but also with broken ones, and dried blood can be seen crusted beneath his blinded eye and mauled snout.

"_Abomination!_" the drake roared, his voice full of anger and spite for the half-dragon. "_You dare ally yourself with someone just as lowly as you. Are you so weak that you have to seek help?_"

"Does it matter?" Shyvana taunted. "I only have to kill you,"

"_You are the reason our brother died,_" the drake howled. "_The blood of yours and your allies will bathe the mountains today!_"

As fierce and swift as lightning, the drake folded his wings and plummeted towards them, his horns and claws slicing through the wind with terrifying ferocity.

Alfie nocked an arrow just as quick and released in a flash after drawing his bow. The arrow shot through the air, and just before it could hit the drake's good eye, the drake twisted to the side. The arrow only skidded harmlessly upon his hide.

"Spread out!" Jarvan commanded. Instantly, his men moved out of the way, before the beast rained fire upon the ground. Shyvana breathed balls of flame upon the drake, aiming for his soft belly and neck, hoping to at least scour his flesh.

But all her attacks proved worthless, for the drake was nimble as the wind, dodging and twisting in the air while avoiding her attacks.

Soon, the drake howled and landed upon the singed ground on all fours, the earth trembling as his feet met the ground. Lightning flashed and rain began to pour, heavier and heavier, and Shyvana found it more difficult to light a spark.

"_I'll start with this filth!_" the drake bellowed and turned towards Lance, who was already in a battle stance with his dual swords held ready. Jarvan held his breath and gritted his teeth, feeling the need to rush forward to shield his soldier in case the drake breathed fire. But they had to act according to their _plan_. The drake only charged forward, wings unfurled with talons ready to rip Lance to shreds.

With a final spark, Shyvana rushed to the soldier's aid, but soon she came to realize that he needed none of their assistance. As the drake swiped his claws furiously, Lance hopped and twisted and danced, calmly and gracefully evading every one of his attacks. This only irked the drake even more, and he howled with fury, which clouded his judgment and made his movements more sluggish.

Every time he avoided the drake's attacks, he tried to counter by slicing and poking him. But his dual swords proved ineffective against the drake's sturdy scales.

Knowing his ally was tiring out, August stepped in with a battle cry. He lifted his bludgeon high in the air and brought it down upon the drake's talon, just as he was distracted trying to kill Lance. The impact managed to chip a claw, and this drew the drake's attention.

The drake's head whirled around, and his good eye flared when he took notice of August. The soldier smirked, knowing that he got his attention, before holding back his bludgeon and swinging it in a roundhouse, smashing the drake right across the lips.

He watched as his head was thrown back from the impact, and August's terrifying power reopened the drake's wounds on his snout, as blood began dripping upon the mud, hissing as they touched the puddles of rainwater.

The drake staggered, stumbling backwards as he hissed in pain. Jarvan saw the opportunity and jumped in, his lance ready to bring hell upon the earth. The prince roared, and brought down his lance with earth-shattering fury. The blade hummed with hidden energy and embedded itself deep into the ground.

Shards of rock shot upwards in a ring formation around the drake and the prince, evidence of the prince's cataclysmic power. Shyvana rushed forward, her feet pounding against the muddied ground. She hopped and brought forth all her strength, her fist covered in a flame that she conjured with all her might.

The drake saw only the prince who still held the lance that was buried deep in the ground, and failed to notice the half-dragon who was coming for him. He huffed, and fire gathered in his maw, before Shyvana's fist collided with his blinded eye.

The force threw back the drake's head, and the flames that were mustered from his throat exploded and went into the air, missing his target entirely. The prince's heart soared in confidence as he watched broken teeth falling from the drake's maw, and he shouted with all the air in his lungs.

"_Alfie!_" he commanded, his voice authoritative and fearsome. "Aim for his eye!"

Shyvana nodded in agreement. At that moment, she felt a spark of hope, that they could indeed win this battle without a single casualty. Their teamwork was excellent, and once both the drake's eyes were blinded, and with his sense of smell cut off, they would be able to bring down the drake easily.

They watched as Alfie, who stood far away upon higher ground for a better vantage point, drew an arrow from his quiver and took aim at the stunned target. It only took him seconds to nock, draw and loose, and they watched in anticipation as the arrow flew high.

It flew in an arc, and headed straight for the drake.

It flew, and flew, and flew...

But instead of striking his good eye, it missed by an inch and struck his horn, before dropping to the ground with an ominous _clang. _

They watched in disbelief. Jarvan's mouth hung open with horror. Shyvana's eyes widened. August and Lance nearly dropped their weapons.

Alfie _missed. _

"How could he miss?" Shyvana heard August said in shock. "Alfie never _missed_!"

The drake recovered and shook his head vehemently, then turned his attention to the prince, whose face had turned completely pale before him – Jarvan was totally defenseless.

At that moment, nothing else mattered. She did not notice August roaring the prince's name and rushing to his aid. She did not notice Lance frantically rummaging for something that could help, or Alfie fumbling with his arrows. She neither felt the rain nor heard the lightning. The half-dragon only had her eyes on her nemesis, and the prince, whose life was in grave danger.

Her eyes glowered with red-hot fury, and she transformed, leaping into the fray.

The drake drew his breath, then unleashed a torrent of flames.

Shyvana wrapped her wings around the prince before releasing her flame breath, just before Jarvan summoned his Golden Aegis.

The drake's breath engulfed them both. The prince's shield shattered instantly, throwing golden shards of energy everywhere. Jarvan realized what Shyvana was trying to do, and without thinking twice he quickly threw the golden cloak sewn from her father's hide over her, determined to shield her from the deadly dragonfire.

Due to her bulky dragon form, the cloak only managed to cover her head and her neck, leaving parts of her back and wings exposed. Jarvan could feel the heat surround him, and watched in awe as Shyvana's flame breath countered the drake's breath, reducing its impact. It seared her wings and back nonetheless, but the damage was greatly reduced.

Shyvana howled and fell to the ground, crashing through the rock formation that Jarvan's lance had formed. She recovered from her fall quickly, and bared her fangs at the drake.

The prince quickly ran his eyes over the burnt parts of her body – part of her webbing had turned from blue-grey to light pink, and some of her scales on her back had gone black. "Are you fine, Shyvana?" he asked, concerned.

"_I'll be fine once he's dead,_" she hissed. Her voice in dragon form had always sent chills down his spine.

The drake's eye darted from the prince to Shyvana to the other men. His pupil narrowed to a slit, and they could see how his mind was in a frenzy right now, ready to attack anyone on sight, showing no mercy. August and Lance stayed vigilant, whereas Alfie remained on high ground, nocking an arrow and preparing to shoot.

"I can't believe this," the prince mumbled under his breath, picking up his lance. "Alfie never missed,"

"_There's a first time for everything,_" Shyvana licked her snout. "_Now isn't the time to worry about that_,"

The drake then lowered his head in a threatened manner, as though he had locked onto a target and was ready to pounce. Shyvana realized that he was in no condition for reasoning, and he would only stop once he had killed all of them.

"We'll have to use the alternative," Jarvan mumbled, and signalled at his men. They saw it, and nodded.

"_Be ready!_" she warned, just as the drake took to the air and turned towards August.

"_I'll pick you off one by one!_" the drake roared, and glided towards the soldier.

* * *

In all his decades of service as a soldier, August could always distinguish a good soldier from a bad one. To him, referring to Jarvan as a 'good soldier' was a complete understatement.

As an abandoned child from a family that died from small pox, August had travelled from the suburbs to Demacia to join the military, knowing that the only way to live was to live the hard way – swearing his fealty to a country he barely knew, for the sake of a meal and a bed. Demacian military service was known for its hardcore training and merciless regime. But August had suffered since he was young - physical training and extreme drills were no challenge to him. With his badly forged iron mace, August was, however, a force to reckon with, and was known to have mastered most weapons and mission strategems. Easily, he aced all the aspects of the military and immediately earned his first rank after a year and a half.

But the king was ever doubtful. King Jarvan III was a suspicious man, and trusted few people. He did not look highly of August at first, because of where he came from and why he joined the military. So he placed him under the watchful eye of his trusted advisor and friend – his own brother-in-law, Commander Cymund Spiritmight, Queen Catherine's elder brother.

And it all changed when August began training and serving under him.

Two years after he began training at the military, August met the first love of his life, Alice, and immediately after a year, they married and had a child – a beautiful daughter.

Commander Spiritmight was impressed with August, and unlike the king, he knew how much respect August had for him – so much that August had sworn his loyalty to him and Demacia. But the king was ever doubtful.

The commander had a hunch that something was not right with August's wife, that her eyes were always too sharp and looking around, taking in every piece of information she could get, that her ears were always picking up random stranger's conversations, and she was as witty as any other soldier. Cymund had had his suspicions, that this woman was too smart to be a commoner, and he had warned August about it, but he only brushed off his commander's warning, thinking that he was being paranoid.

Until one day August was sent to Noxus with a small group of soldiers on a covert mission. Not long after that, his daughter was found butchered in her home, and Alice was nowhere to be found. They expected the worst for his wife, and Cymund had grimaced at the thought of breaking the news to August once he returned.

Soon, it was learnt that the covert mission had failed, and all of the soldiers that were sent did not return as expected, mostly believed dead.

A week later, August was found at the Grand Gates of Demacia, dragging a bound, haggard woman behind his horse, her face so bruised and beaten that she was beyond recognition, and her feet were bloody and full of blisters, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

When the soldiers saw him, they nearly shot him on sight. August's entire face had been badly disfigured, full of scars and burns that were badly healed. Half of his face was still bandaged, but his eyes were full of determination, and mostly murderous intention. The steed that he rode was obviously stolen, and they noticed how August's favourite weapon – his bludgeon, had been coated completely in blood.

Commander Spiritmight demanded a report from him immediately after his appearance, and August did. His wife turned out to be a Noxian spy, executing an espionage in Demacia with four other men. She had been the one to learn of August's covert mission, and instantly betrayed him to the High Command once she returned to Noxus, not before murdering her own child. August and the other soldiers were captured and tortured, one of the torture methods being immersing their faces into a vat full of unknown chemicals, explaining August's disfigured face. All of them died after two days being tortured, but August endured, and refused to break any secrets to the Noxians, knowing they would still kill him after he divulge Demacia's royal secrets.

August waited for his chance, and broke out of his cell. He captured his wife as well. In a desperate attempt, she tried to provoke him by telling him that she killed their daughter, hoping that he would be sad enough to make a mistake - an opportunity for her to counter-attack. What she did not know was that _she _was the one who made a terrible mistake.

August, enraged, then threw a fit and began beating her. He forced secrets out of her, pulling out her nails forcefully and knocking out all her teeth. He tied her to his horse and dragged her on for days, not letting her sleep or rest, and even purposely kicking his horse's rear to speed up. Soon she broke. Thinking that he might still show her mercy due to his love for her, she told him all about herself, about the espionage and the identity of four other spies who were currently executing their missions in Demacia.

But August loved his daughter more, and carried on dragging her behind his horse.

Once the king learnt of the news, he commanded the other four spies to be captured. It was then he changed his view on August's loyalty, that this man would never break under any condition. But his cruelty disgusted the king, and so he punished and rewarded him by placing him in the Elite Guard, but his only wage would be three meals a day and a roof over his head. August would never earn half as much as other soldiers, not allowed to leave Demacia unless dispatched on missions or tasks, and he must serve under the Elite Guard until the day he dies.

August agreed, and he watched as his wife and four other spies were hanged in public the next day. The prince was there, and August had seen the royal prince studying him pitifully.

What he did not expect was Jarvan IV had walked over and patted him on his shoulder. A young boy, who was at least ten to twenty years younger than him, offered him sympathy and company at a tavern unlike other soldiers who sneered at the sight of him. While other people's stares were cold, the prince's eyes were always warm, and caring.

It was then he swore that he would, indeed, remain celibate and serve the royal family, until the day he dies. Which was why he willingly followed the prince who exiled himself just because he was unable to forgive himself.

He remembered the day Jarvan personally asked him to take part in his company. My_ prince, everything I do is for your safety and future. I would willingly follow you in battle, and dying by your side is my greatest honor, _he had sworn to him.

And now, he held his beloved weapon with both his hands, facing a creature he had never faced before. But August was fearless, because he had nothing to lose.

The drake opened his jaw wide, trying to snap August's neck between his fangs. Without hesitating, the soldier waited for the right moment, and swung with all his might. The bludgeon hit its mark, smashing a few fangs out of the drake's mouth, but the beast was relentless, charging in for another assault.

August had diverted the drake's attention from everyone, and he wished that the plan they had devised could be carried out without a mistake. Whatever it was, he had done his part – he had angered the beast successfully, and he knew the drake was out for his blood.

"August!" Lance screamed, rushing for him.

"_No!_" he roared, and Lance stopped dead in his tracks. "Just do it!"

The drake swiped his claws, and August, who was slightly distracted, could only try to parry the drake's crushing blow. The impact still hit him fully, however, and the soldier was sent flying before crashing to the ground.

August cursed, and spat a bloody glob upon the ground. The drake still had his eye fixed on him, and he was taunting the soldier.

"_Your fearlessness is formidable,_" the drake hissed. "_But still you're just a human,_"

"Huh," August snorted. He was drenched from head to toe, and he did not notice bleeding wound on his forehead. Blood began washing down his cheeks, running down his scarred face and dripping off his jaw. His thick fingers clenched around his bludgeon, his hatred boiling. "Believe me, I could crush your skull right here and then. You are nothing but a worm to me,"

"_Pomposity will be your downfall!_"

August flaunted his bludgeon before the drake. "Then show me what you can do, because all I see right now is a useless raptor flopping around, being beaten up by an old man with a stick!"

That successfully wounded his pride. The drake then bellowed in rage, drew in air and released a jet of dragonfire towards August.

August smirked. A few yards behind the drake, Lance noticed the signal and started chanting while making gestures with his hands.

August could only hope that Lance's skill on destruction magic had not gone rusty due to years of disuse.

But he knew that it worked, because before the dragon's breath could reach him, the area around the drake heated up in an incredible speed, before triggering an explosion upon the spot that the drake stood on.

"August, _get back!_" Lance screamed. August swore he saw his lips moving, but all his words were drowned by the rumbling sound of the earth falling apart and the drake's terrified scream. Dust and debris began to fill the air, clouding his vision. August did not think twice, he turned back and sprinted, feeling the ground breaking and falling beneath him.

Lance had been right – beneath the Ironspike was a large cave-like system that would reach into the core of the planet. August had always believed him to be witty and cunning, but now he had a whole new reason to respect his comrade.

But for now, he focused on running, and prayed that the prince was far away enough from the mayhem.

* * *

"_Lamb,_" Wolf called out, a sense of urgency evident in his voice. "It has begun, the drake has fallen,"

"The hunt begins," Lamb fiddled with her bow. "Though the death of this one would be rather... depressing,"

"Like a long hunt with no kill?"

"To sacrifice oneself just so the other could live," Lamb lamented. "I only hope this one would choose the right path,"

"Will this one whine?" Wolf asked, excited. "Will Wolf get to hunt, eat and kill? I'm so, so hungry, little Lamb,"

"We will see. But first, we must beat the Deathsinger,"

* * *

"Lance was right," Shyvana mumbled in awe, watching from a safe distance as the ground shattered and fell beneath the drake's feet. The drake screamed and scrambled for a hold, but his claws only managed to grab onto crumbling rocks, and soon he fell into an abyss, his roar an echo lost within the chaos.

"August," Jarvan muttered. "Where's August?"

Shyvana, already reverted back to her human form pointed towards the soldier, who was running towards them. Behind them, the ground kept falling apart, and it seemed as though it wouldn't stop.

"I think Lance overdid it," Alfie commented.

August was about to reach them, and Jarvan was going to make a run to a safer spot once August caught up with them, until he noticed the soldier's eyes widening in alarm and turning back.

He stopped, and looked around frantically.

"Hey fuck-face!" Shyvana shouted, obviously impatient. "_Hurry up!_"

"Lance!" August yelled, his voice barely audible above the impending chaos, but it was enough for Jarvan to be alarmed. "Lance needs help!"

Alfie nudged the prince and pointed far north, where one of Lance's foot was caught under a fallen rock, pinning him to the ground entirely. Behind him, the crevice expanded, and was catching up on him.

"Jarvan, there's no time!" Shyvana warned.

"Lance," the prince clenched his fists, his feet struggling in a dilemma to escape or to run towards his men to help them. "This is too much, I have to –,"

"_There's no time!_"

"I can't let another man die under my watch!" he shouted.

"Jarvan, be rational. If you go you'll get everyone killed in no time!"

"That's not what you said when we saved the Marai,"

"It's _different _now!"

"_Lance!_" August screamed, and ran towards Lance, not giving a damn about the quake around him. This only worsened the prince's anxiety, and Jarvan swore that he had never felt so indecisive in his life.

"Oh fuck it," Jarvan threw all rational thoughts aside, and ran towards August and Lance.

"Jarvan!" Shyvana howled, frustrated with the prince, and instantly transformed into her dragon form. Her plan had been to whisk Jarvan and August away before they could run to their own death, and possibly try to save Lance if she could, but that was before the ground beneath them began to shake as well, and hell soon broke loose.

Shyvana turned back to tell Alfie to run, before realizing that the archer was far too close to them to escape.

The earth beneath the prince came loose, and before they were aware of it, they fell.

Dust and debris filled the air, and Shyvana could barely see as she felt the soil and wind forcing her down into the abyss. Her injured wings had made it difficult to fly, and added with her clouded vision, she could only whine helplessly as she was sucked into the darkness.

Before she fell unconscious, she felt the warmth of a familiar magic. _The Golden Aegis, _she thought, and soon the darkness consumed her.

* * *

When Shyvana woke, she panicked when she saw only darkness around her. _Was I dead?_ She had thought so, until she felt a trickle of water upon her head, and her palms were pressed against cold, hard stone.

They had fallen deep into the cave system that was beneath the Ironspike Mountains, just as Lance had guessed. And somehow Jarvan's Golden Aegis had saved them from being shattered to a pile of bloody mess.

Shyvana slowly sat up, feeling her back pop slightly. She wanted to shout to see if anyone else was around her, until she heard the familiar grumble of a drake, not close enough to her, but not far away either.

Her heart skipped a beat. _He's not dead,_ she lamented.

Her eyes glowed like two pieces of amber, and she could see her surroundings clearly. The cave was large, and she could barely see the top, which meant either the debris and crumbled earth had covered the crevice completely, or they were so far deep into the heart of the mountain that the top couldn't be seen. Either possibilities were equally terrifying to her.

She soon found August, only him, resting against a boulder. He groaned slightly. Shyvana quickly and quietly walked over to him, then clasped her hand over his mouth, muffling his moans.

August jolted awake, his eyes as wide as saucers. She knew he saw her, and ushered him to keep quiet before he continued with his ruckus.

"The drake is not dead," the half-dragon whispered. August exhaled, and forcefully pushed her hand away.

"The prince? Others?" he asked in a low tone.

"I don't see them," the half-dragon shook her head. "I just woke up,"

Suddenly, a loud roar filled the cave, its echo ringing in their ears. August began fidgeting with his bludgeon.

"We have to find them quickly," August warned. Shyvana agreed, noticing how grim the situation was.

"Did you save Lance?" she asked.

"I don't know, I grabbed hold of his hand, I was sure of it. After that we were falling. How we survived is still a mystery to me,"

Shyvana began leading the way. "The prince used his Golden Aegis on us. His shield took the brunt of the fall. I guess the impact knocked us out,"

"Hopefully," August sighed. "Or the prince's shield could have failed to protect him, he had fallen first. He may not have survived,"

"That would be too bad," Shyvana sneered. "Considering how you risked everyone's lives just to save the life of one man,"

August grabbed her shoulders and whirled her backwards. The half-dragon's gaze darkened, and glared straight into his hateful eyes.

"Watch your mouth, _beast_," August spat. "You dragged us all into this mess in the first place. And Lance's life is worth more than _yours_,"

"Perhaps. I'm just a lowly commoner. A half-breed, to be exact. And Lance is a soldier, a brave one. But is his life worth more than Jarvan's that you are willing to trade the royal prince for a soldier?"

"You should have stopped him from approaching us," August protested. "And let us _die,_"

"Jarvan is not mine to control. I can't tell him what to do,"

"Whatever," August gave up with a snort. "Bickering won't do us any good. It fucking happened anyway,"

The half-dragon said nothing. She was tired of arguing all the time as well.

"This time, if anything were about to happen to us," August stroked his bludgeon, not looking Shyvana in the eyes. "Grab the prince and get the fuck out of here,"

Shyvana remained silent, and listened.

"As much as I hate you, you and I both want the same thing for the prince – to get him home, alive and well," he then stared at her, but the hatred and disgust disappeared from his eyes. "You can still fly, can't you?"

"Don't underestimate me," Shyvana snorted.

"And don't overestimate yourself," he snapped. "If you can get him out, do it. Let us do the honors,"

The half-dragon silently agreed, then turned back and led the way.

* * *

The drake hissed, growled, and snapped his teeth in frustration. He had never felt more humiliated - bested by a handful of humans that he could have crushed with his claws. But here he was, broken and beaten with wounds and blood dripping from reopened scars.

He remembered a brief explosion, and the earth had given way beneath his feet. He had used his last strength to widen the crevice, by clawing and holding onto loose soil, so the half-breed and the humans would fall with him. The drake then came to his senses after feeling pain all over his body, and somehow he knew that he had failed to kill them.

He sniffed the air, and he began picking up a scent. _Humans,_ he growled.

And so he followed the scent, and wandered around the cave with his heightened senses. He could smell blood, fresh human blood, and the drake had a sudden craving, drool dripping from his mutilated snout.

He turned a corner, and grinned when he saw him. The one with the golden armour, with a cloak sewn with the golden hide of a Celestial dragon. It was the same cloak that saved him from being roasted alive. He soon realized that the hide belonged to Aurus Signum, the half-breed's father, and he recoiled in disgust. Anger and hatred boiled within him, and he could not stand the sight of his brother being carved and displayed as a trophy to be worn by the humans.

The drake grumbled, and he noticed the human flinching. He held his lance tighter than usual, and slowly turned to him.

The drake bared his fangs, and grinned when he saw fear in his eyes.

"_You are right to be afraid,"_

* * *

"Little Lamb, is he the one? The one with the golden cloak?"

"He's the one,"

"Is it time yet?"

"No," Lamb stroke Wolf's ethereal form, dark wisps of energy slipping through her cold, white fingers. "Not yet. Watch for now, dear Wolf,"

* * *

At first, Lance could see nothing but darkness, until he heard a draconic grumble and decided to follow the source of the sound, groping around as he was very much blinded. Soon, he found a speck of light, and followed it.

The light turned out to be the drake's good eye, that was still glowing bright, and the fires that swirled within his mouth and throat.

When Lance saw the drake hounding on the man in the golden armour, he instantly drew his dual swords. The prince, holding onto his lance tightly, trembled slightly as he found out the drake was right behind him all along. Lance dragged his wounded leg along, still feeling the concussion ringing in the back of his head.

"_You are right to be afraid,_" the drake had leered, showing off his mouth that were full of broken fangs, but still horrifying to be looked at.

"Get away from him, beast!" Lance spat, trying to get his attention. He raised his sword and pointed it at the drake. "I'll blow you up for good this time!"

"And risk murdering all your comrades?" the drake turned away to glare at Lance. The soldier flinched, taking in the sight of the drake whose head was full of half-healed scars – his maw and lip was badly cut and wounded, rows of broken fangs decorated his mouth, and his one blind eye was nothing but an empty socket, with dried blood that caked between his shedding scales. It was an ugly sight to behold at a close distance, and Lance found himself frozen on the spot.

"_I've seen how important this man is to all of you_," the drake hissed. "_Do not take me for a fool, human. Your species is not half as intelligent as mine,_"

Just after he said that, the drake lashed out, trying to strike the prince. Lance rushed forward as far as his injured leg could carry him, just as the prince backstepped before his claws could reach him, leaving a dent upon the stone floor where the prince had been.

The soldier struck, swinging his swords upon the drake's tail. But the drake was more vigilant, aware of the soldier behind him, and lashed his tail, striking Lance right in the ribs. The blow knocked the air out of Lance's lungs, and he dropped to his feet, clutching his side.

The drake turned his attention to the prince, beating his wings to throw him off balance. With every strike the drake unleashed upon the man in golden cloak, he parried and countered with his lance. Until one particular blow proved too powerful to be blocked by his lance alone, and he was brought down to his knees, his forearms trembling as he held his lance against the dragon's claws.

Lance tried to stand, but his side was badly wounded, and he could already feel a large bruise forming. He watched helplessly as the drake gathered flames in the back of his throat, ready to burn the prince to crisp...

And out of nowhere, the half-dragon emerged, her fists flaming like a burning comet. With strength and ferocity she brought it down upon the drake's skull. The impact was devastating. The drake hissed and reared back in pain, the flames in his mouth briefly extinguished.

August appeared as well, howling a battle roar and charging towards the beast with his weapon raised. He swung his bludgeon, and it bashed the drake across the cheek. But this only enraged the drake further, and the beast slapped its wings against the cavern floors, calling forth strong gusts of wind to throw them off their feet.

August was thrown off, and Shyvana teetered slightly. It was the worst moment to make such a mistake, and the drake saw his opportunity.

He brought his claws down on August, and clamped him against the cold, hard floor. August, gritting his teeth, brought up his bludgeon and blocked him, struggling with every last ounce of strength that he could muster against the dragon's fury.

The drake's mangled snout drew near, his hateful gaze glaring deep into August's soul. From the tips of his mouth, the soldier could see liquid fire dripping down his teeth, hissing as drops of it touched the cavern grounds.

The dragon prepared to breathe fire, to deal the fatal blow.

"_Shyvana!_" August howled. "Shyvana, _get him out of here!_"

But the half-dragon's eyes widened, her jaw was loose and a look of horror appeared upon her face.

Lance dragged himself closer, to see what had the half-dragon so spooked. What he could not understand was how oddly the prince had behaved, how often he had fidgeted with the lance, and how he had not bothered to summon the Golden Aegis when the drake rained blows after blows on him.

_Something's not right,_ Lance concluded.

It almost seemed as though...

… the lance did not belong in his hands.

A loud voice echoed through the cavern, a voice that belonged to the one they all vowed to protect, but it came from the wrong side of the cave. "_Alfie_!" he screamed, and all eyes turned towards the man in simple breeches and tunic, the one who looked _very much_ like the prince of Demacia.

And suddenly, Lance understood, but it was too late.

The man in the golden armour rushed forward, throwing the golden cloak over August.

At that moment, the drake released hell from his jaws.

* * *

Ever since they had begun the hike upon the Ironspike Mountains, he had felt queasy. Like something was stalking him, watching him, studying his every move. He started feeling an eerie presence quietly breathing down his spine, but every time he turned back, there was no one to be found.

He could barely focus, and it was taking a toll on him and his comrades. At first he thought it was just a figment of his imagination, until the rain started falling. When he was scouting, he noticed something _watching _him.

Based on a hunch, his eyes shot towards a tree, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

A being, covered in snow white fur, perched upon a branch. It wore a mask of pure darkness, with two holes for eyes that glowed with a haunting blue hue.

He let out a silent scream and fell on his rump. When he blinked, the creature was gone.

It only got worse when the drake appeared, and he stood on the high ground to provide support if necessary. They immobilized the drake, just as initially planned, and he was given a clear shot of the drake's eyes. It should have been easy – he had sniped targets that were further and smaller, he couldn't have made a mistake.

Until he saw all his comrades wearing the same mask that the creature wore earlier, and his fingers trembled upon his bow. He felt the chill of death on his back, and two voices, one gentle and one harsh, one like the sound of a songbird and the other cruel as the crack of a whip, whispered in his ears:

"_Your time is near –_,"

"_Will you run fast –,"_

"_\- but the choice is yours,_"

"_\- or will you cower and shiver?_"

In harmony, both voices spoke : "_Choose wisely, and we will answer your wishes,_"

With that, they vanished, and he released the arrow. To his resentment, it flew past the drake's eye, missing by an inch.

Then it came the moment when they fell with the drake, and he had woken first before the prince. Jarvan laid on his back, his arm badly bruised but nothing serious. He immediately did what he could to ease his pain, being careful as the prince moaned in pain. He watched as the prince continued to sleep, and the voice whispered again, but this time it belonged to a different entity:

"_There's no greater ecstasy than suffering. There's no greater pleasure than pain,_

_Do not heed the words of the lying twin,_

_Listen to mine instead, and bear witness to the glory of demise,_

_And I promise you, I will set you free_,"

He shivered uncontrollably, and shook his head vehemently. He tried to convince himself that he was indeed going mad from the stress and pressure, but a little voice in the back of his mind told him otherwise, that the voices spoke true.

He glanced at the prince – Jarvan, who laid helpless and in pain. And he thought, _better me than him_.

And so he stripped the prince of his golden armour and cloak, donned it and equipped himself with his lance.

Somehow he knew he was going to die.

"_Alfie!_"

And so when he saw August clamped to the ground, and was about to be burnt to ashes by the drake, he acted on impulse. He barely knew what the cloak could do, but he acted on instincts, and threw it over August. Just as the flames were let loose.

He closed his eyes, anticipating the heat that would wash over him and melt him in an instant. But it never came.

He opened his eyes, and he was greeted with an odd sight – all things had frozen still, the flames were static in mid-air, and everyone stopped moving, as though time had stopped.

"_I'm glad we came to you first_,"

He looked to his left, and saw the white creature from earlier, this time wielding an enchanting white bow, with glowing carvings that was mesmerizing to behold. Its curves were alluring, and the dainty fingers that fiddled with the taut bowstring released soft notes of rhythm in the air - sounds that only he could hear.

"That's a beautiful bow," he found himself saying. He couldn't help it.

"_You can't flatter death,_" the cold and cruel voice spoke behind him, and when he turned back, he saw a creature, the exact opposite of the white being. It bore a white mask, over a head that resembled a wolf, with a snout and a complete set of fangs. But it had no body, and its form flowed like smoke behind him.

He shuddered and stepped back. "You are... you came to collect my soul?"

"_To many we are Ani and Ina..._"

"... _Farya and Wolyo,_" the black entity floated around.

"_But to all, we are the Kindred,_" they spoke together.

"_Your time is up, Alfie. Which way do you choose to go?_" the white creature asked.

"I was told," he said, his voice trembling with fear. "That you are the lying twin. How do I know if you're not here to hurt me?" he repeated what he had heard earlier, and stepped away from the Kindred.

"_That is up to you,_" the white creature said. "_But that is no deity, only the remnants of a dead legend. His presence itself defies the law of nature. Will you, a man who keeps honor as his code, follow the path that deviates from all things right?_"

"What is right, and what is wrong?" he found himself asking, and he was surprised by the boldness in his voice. "All my life, I had obeyed, because I had no choice. Everything I did is for my own benefit, to ensure the survival of my family and not because I love the prince as fervently as everyone. I wanted to live,"

The black entity chuckled. "_Yet you threw yourself in, like a fool, fool, fool,_"

"Because I do not deserve to live," he admitted. "I could not accept death before this, when my sister laid bedridden, her face pale as a dead man's. But now I will. It is one way to repay my debts to the prince, and to my fellow comrades, who loved him more than I do,"

"_What are your wishes then?_"

Alfie inhaled sharply. "That I accept death,"

* * *

August watched everything happen, and the cloak managed to protect him completely from being swallowed by the sea of flames, and by the time he threw the cloak aside, the man in the golden armour was completely burnt to the point his skin had turned charcoal black.

"Alfie," he held him, his voice hoarse and bitter. His hands were trembling as he held whatever that was remained of his head in his lap, afraid that if he pressed too hard his skin and bones would crumble to ashes. The armour that was once golden had melted and fused with parts of his flesh, and August saw how his eyes had boiled and melted, the blackened sockets holding two pools of white, cloudy fluid, mingled with traces of blood. His lips and nose were completely gone, and the stench was horrible. But August did not care about those. "Lad, speak to me –"

He failed to notice a gleaming arrow stuck deep in his chest. It sizzled, and winked out of existence before anyone could see it.

Alfie released his last breath with a sigh, and it was then August knew he was truly gone.

The lad from the Demacian scouts, the young boy full of hope, the talented yet humble soldier that he wanted to place in the Elite Guard to prove his worth – Alfie, was gone.

* * *

When Shyvana saw what happened, she felt rage boil within her. Jarvan, the true prince of Demacia, looked horrified, and he could barely digest what happened.

"_Enough_!" she roared, and the drake turned to her, an amused expression upon his face. "Enough of this bloodshed!"

"_If you've surrendered yourself earlier, none of this would have happened_,"

"If you've accepted me!" she howled in rage and resentment, letting out all her bitter emotions verbally at the drake. "If only the _dragonkin _would accept their own child, borne of a Celestial Dragon that you so highly respected, my father wouldn't have died! And you wouldn't have been in such sorry state!"

The drake slammed his claws against the floor. "_And it's all because of you_!"

"You dragons call yourself civilized and intelligent folk," she hissed, her eyes glowing brighter and brighter. "All I see are _savages_, mindless _beasts _that are only keen of murdering those lowlier than you. That _boy _you murdered," she pointed a finger at Alfie's body. "He has a heart more noble than any ten of your kin combined!"

"_You speak like a savage yourself, half-dragon,_" the drake snapped. "_Are you so foolish to think that harmony can exist between the dragons and the other races? That we won't fight and bite each other to death? There is an order to this world, and even if you don't know it, the weak ones will always be slaves. Do you see why it's important for one kin to be the superior to the others? That the dragons rule above all else?_"

Shyvana clenched her fists.

"_Just so our kind survive,_" the drake spat. "_Just so, by the name of our Father, Aard Synvael, we may live and be free of harm from other races, including abstaining our blood from being tainted with the blood of the other lowly races,_"

"_Your existence is a plague to us all,_" the drake raised his chin at the half-dragon. "_You're neither dragon nor human, neither race will accept you. If the dragons adopt you, the humans will find a way to use you as a leverage, and threaten to topple our empire. The humans will_ not_ recognize you as one of them, because who knows one day you would go berserk and murder them all?_"

Shyvana's anger continued to burn. She clenched her jaw, looking for words to argue, but found _none, _because deep inside she knew his words rang truth.

"She won't betray us," Shyvana turned towards the prince, and miraculously her anger subsided. "Her loyalty is greater than that of a human, and her strength surpasses a dragon's. That's what makes her so special,"

The dragon threw back his head and laughed. "_You delude yourself, human!_"

"Perhaps," the prince strode towards Alfie, and with a tug he freed his lance from the dead soldier's clutches, picking up the golden cloak and flung it over his shoulders. "But underestimating _me_ will be your last mistake,"

Without hesitation, he threw forth a Demacian standard, and Shyvana watched with awe as it plunged deep into the ground just a few feet away from the drake. He then pushed his lance forward, and it extended until it hooked onto the shaft of the standard and dragged the prince towards the drake. All these was done in the span of a few seconds.

The half-dragon wasted no time as well, feeling her strength surge through her bloodstream. In an instant she transformed into a dragon, her wings unfurled and jaw wide open with a deafening roar, flames pouring from all over her body and illuminating the entire cavern. She leapt towards the drake, talons held out for his throat.

Jarvan used the power of his lance and summoned another cataclysm – entrapping himself, Shyvana and the drake in an arena within the cave. The drake had no way of getting out, and Lance and August couldn't risk themselves trying to save the prince.

The half-dragon grabbed onto the drake's throat, and fire spewed everywhere. The prince tried his best to hide from the flames, shielding himself with the cloak. The drake snarled and screeched, engaging the half-dragon and fighting her teeth to teeth, claw to claw. They both looked like two fearsome beasts trying to tear each other apart, locked in an extreme battle to the death.

Jarvan desperately looked for an opportunity to aid the half-dragon, but it was futile.

"_If you value your kin so much,_" Shyvana snarled resentfully, clawing the drake right across the throat. "_Why did you kill my father so brutally?!"_

The injury only infuriated the drake, his hot blood hissing as it dripped onto the cold cavern grounds. With a cry he swiped across Shyvana's snout, knocking her backwards. "_He had sinned! And he must be punished!_"

"_For laying with a human?" _Shyvana growled, oblivious to the wounds inflicted to her snout and throat. "_For choosing a human over your kind?!_"

"_You won't understand!_"

Angered, the half-dragon breathed fire upon the drake. The drake howled and grunted, withstanding the heat with his hard scales, but the flames still managed to shed his scales and scorch the soft skin near his torso. "_Then, I'll kill each and every one of you_," the half-dragon threatened. "_I'll make sure your kind is completely extinguished, until you all rue the day you ever crossed me,_"

The drake gritted his broken fangs, and prepared to muster flames in his maw.

"Shyvana!" Jarvan yelled. The half-dragon looked at the prince, who held his lance like he was about to toss a javelin. She understood immediately, and tried to fly out of the way.

But the drake realized as well, and swiftly he locked his jaw around the half-dragon's neck, his fangs not sharp enough to snap her throat but enough to make her bleed. He had her in a deadlock, and maneuvered the half-dragon to position her in between the prince and him.

The prince hesitated.

"_Just throw it!_" Shyvana screamed.

In his mind, the prince crossed his fingers and toe, said his prayers, and with every ounce of his strength, he aimed and threw the lance.

Shyvana jerked violently, but the drake held her fast. The lance shot through the air, and penetrated one of her wings. The half-dragon screamed –

Just as the lance lodged itself in the drake's uncovered chest, where the scales had been removed by Shyvana's fire.

It was a superficial wound, but enough to make him release the half-dragon, who instantly reverted back to her human form, and Jarvan thought she had never looked so haggard – the scars on her cheek were bleeding, her arm was badly wounded and there were bite marks on her neck. The drake reared back and released a cry of pain, his claws reaching for the lance and pulling it out with a frenzied roar. Blood spilled onto the ground.

"_Vermin!_" the drake tossed the lance aside, his eye was bloodshot and crazed, and he had his gaze locked onto the prince. Jarvan felt panic overwhelming him, and he was suddenly frozen on the spot, unable to move.

The drake raised his claws for the kill. But suddenly, he grunted, and shuddered uncontrollably.

The prince looked away from his terrifying claws which was held aloft in the air, and saw the half-dragon, who had her arm plunged deep into the drake's chest. Her lips were pale, the pain obviously excruciating, but she managed to crawl over while the drake's attention was on Jarvan, and struck him through his weak spot.

The drake moaned, suddenly staggering as though his legs could not support him.

With a cry, Shyvana pulled back her arm with all her strength. Jarvan watched as her arm, covered in blood, was pulled out from the drake's chest, and in her gauntlet she held an organ – the drake's heart, still pulsating and connected by arteries.

"Remember who killed you," Shyvana muttered. "As you return to the Celestials, just as the dragons believed, remember my name – Shyvana. No one will build a pyre for you, _murderer_,"

With that, she focused all her flames onto his heart, watching as it was burnt into ashes. The drake's eye dimmed, and soon he toppled over and demolished the rock formation that Jarvan had forcefully formed earlier.

The silence that followed after was thick.

Just as life had vanished from the drake's body, so did Shyvana's hatred and thirst for vengeance. She sighed, feeling a huge weight being lifted off her shoulders. The drake's body fell, and accidentally crashed into the cavern's low ceilings. Rocks and loose soil crumbled, forming a small hole upon the ceiling which only a dog could fit through.

The prince and the half-dragon watched as light streamed through the hole, briefly brightening the dark, cold cave. The heavy downpour from earlier was gone, and Shyvana could tell that the sun was already out, no longer concealed by clouds.

"Shyvana," the prince spoke her name reverently, and she could feel concern in his voice. Again she sighed, relieved with the realization that she no longer had to run for her life.

Looking through the hole, she stared deeply. It suddenly reminded her of her father, and the conversation they once had.

"Shyvana," Jarvan called again after a long time. "Are you fine?" She must have looked dazed to the prince, that it sparked his concern for her.

With a genuine smile, she turned towards the prince. "I'm fine. I just realized something, looking at the weather. My father was right after all,"

Jarvan stared at her with knitted eyebrows, puzzled at what she was implying.

"It was true," she smiled, studying the blue sky filled with fluff, white clouds. "The skies will clear, after all,"


	26. Epilogue: The Farewell

**Epilogue – The Farewell**

They had been walking for two hours before they finally reached the end of the cave – a small opening where light streamed in, and the rain had stopped. The sun greeted them as they walked out, but they were all silently mourning for the death of one of their own.

Behind the prince, August and Lance carried their fallen brother while Shyvana guarded their flank, in case any beasts decided they were easy enough to prey on. The prince's mood was sombre, and Shyvana did not bother to engage in a conversation with him.

Her wounds hurt, but she knew that Jarvan's heart was more wounded.

The prince tried to retrieve whatever armour that was left on Alfie's body – only the helmet was intact, albeit covered by soot and a little misshapen, but still usable. The rest of his armour had completely fused with the poor boy's flesh, and the prince draped the golden cloak over Alfie while they carried him out.

They climbed up the slope of the Ironspike Mountains, and with each step, the sun sank lower between the mountains. By the time they were at the summit, where the winds blew more wildly and only a fine patch of grass grew upon the barren peak, the sky was like a canvas splashed with purple and dark blue hues, with a bright undertone.

They built him a pyre made out of branches and stones, since they could not bury him in the mountains. The prince held a torch lighted by the half-dragon's flames, and with a heavy heart, he placed it at the bottom of the pyre. They watched as it went up in flames. The fire swallowed everything, the boy's ruined body and his bow and arrows.

It felt like forever, though it only took half an hour. Shyvana stood with her head bowed, her hands clasped at her front. _Forgive me, Alfie,_ she mourned. _I dragged you into this. It shouldn't have been you. May you find peace in the afterlife._

The silence was overwhelming as they climbed down the Ironspike Mountains, following the trail to the foot of the mountain. All the while, the men did not speak, and Shyvana found it rather unnerving, but at the same time shocked at how affected they were by their comrade's death.

They set up camp as it was too late and too dangerous to go anywhere. The half-dragon helped as well, not daring to say anything but watching the prince all the same. She studied his face, his actions, and soon she understood. Her heart wrenched when she realized that he was holding everything back, doing everything to distract himself from the death of one of his men. It hurt her to see him suffer alone.

Even dinner was quiet. The half-dragon had never felt so bothered and uncomfortable before. She studied each of their faces – August seemed as though he had forgotten how to scowl, Lance was just poking his food and taking meagre bites, and the prince seemed as though he was completely lost in another world.

They even cleaned up everything quietly. She did not know how sombre the mood was until she accidentally toppled a pot and spilled its contents onto August's lap, the boiling soup scorching his fingers. The half-dragon did not apologize, expecting a snark comment from the soldier, but all she got was an apathetic glance from him, nothing more.

Shyvana was starting to get annoyed.

"I'll take the first watch," she announced, her voice so tense that she brook no argument. The others only nodded, and went to their tents to hit the sack. In their state right now, they seemed more like mindless bodies, living without a purpose.

And so she took the first watch, sitting near the campfire which she rekindled every time the flames burnt low.

She poked the embers with the stick aimlessly while she let her thoughts wander. She tried to think of other things to divert her thoughts, however her mind always came back to _him._

_I will miss him dearly,_ she smiled without knowing it, remembering the times when she first met him, how they travelled through the desert and survived the deadly Xer'sai, the people they met and the wonders she never thought she would see. Together with him, she felt as though she had had an adventure of a lifetime, and finally when they slew the drake, it was like he was the one who helped her lift her burdens.

She will never forget how he made her feel. For the first time in her life, she felt like there was more to being a half-dragon, and she appreciated it. _Who would have known? _Her smile grew wider. _Of all the people I could have met, I have stumbled upon a noble man._

Then she remembered his offer, that she could go back to Demacia with him. Her smile died.

The half-dragon drew herself closer, resting her tired chin in between her knees.

_What would I become if I go back with him? _She pondered to herself, thinking of possible scenarios. Would she be reverred as the hero who came back with the prince, or feared as a beast that was foreign to the country? _Father wanted me to go to Ionia, to learn of my roots, so that I could make peace with myself. But that was because he thought I would be seeking refuge thus losing the purpose of living. My problems are solved now, and I have a purpose before me. I only need to accept it._

_Demacia_, the word rang in her mind, and she inhaled sharply. _Belonging, purpose, home_.

It was too tempting to reject. But Ionia could be her home too.

_Jarvan wouldn't be there. Home is wherever your loved one is close by._

_Love_, the half-dragon snorted. _A few weeks ago I would have found this laughable, oh how the tables have turned._

_Love, _the word kept repeating itself in her mind, and she was suddenly reminded of that one time when they made love, when they were out in the sea, and he had mentioned that he was betrothed to someone.

_That girl,_ she remembered. _Her name, was it Lux? The girl whom he claimed was like his sister._

It was then that she realized they were never meant to be. He was a noble prince, a man of power who eventually had to govern his country with an iron fist. She was only a commoner, a half-breed that was rejected by both races. She would never be accepted into society.

Shyvana grimaced. _A prince marries for duty, not for love_, she remembered what August said, and her heart sank.

They had tried to cut off ties after that one time on the boat. Nonetheless she just couldn't help but be attracted to him, over and over again.

Her gaze turned to the tent, noticing the dim lighting of the brazier from within. She could see the shadow of a man, bent over something, as though in deep thought. Somehow she knew that Jarvan had not gone to sleep, and she couldn't help but wonder – what other worries would the prince have, now that they had slain the drake and he could finally return home?

The half-dragon realized – just because her problems had been solved, it did not mean the end of the prince's worries. He had other problems that plagued him as well, predicament that she would never understand.

She stood, and she did not think twice before entering his tent. It was like her legs decided to move on their own, and her hand automatically pulled aside the flap of his tent.

There he sat – a brazier of warm fire burning by his side, his body hunched over a makeshift desk which was only a rough plank perched on thick wooden branches, his hand holding a quill, scratching and scribbling on a rough yellow paper while he dipped the tip into an inkpot occasionally.

He noticed her presence immediately after she showed herself. "It's already late, what are you up to?"

He ignored her question and immediately turned the paper over, even though the ink might not be dry. "Are you tired? I can take over your watch right now,"

"No," she denied, and approached the prince, sitting cross-legged beside him. They looked at each other for a brief moment, before she continued. "Is something bothering you?"

"You've had enough to worry about," he smiled sadly. "I do not wish to share my burdens with you,"

"You solved enough of my problems already. You can always talk about it, even if I'm not able to help you. I'll just listen, and won't ask any questions about it,"

The prince sighed, then noticed her hand on the desk. Her blue-grey skin was visible, and he soon realized that she wasn't wearing her gauntlets, the weapons that she refused to take off all these while. It piqued his curiosity greatly.

"The gauntlets..." his voice trailed away as his question hung in the air.

"I no longer have to worry about being ambushed," she admitted. "Even if we are attacked, I don't think they would stand a chance against us,"

"You've changed," the prince smiled genuinely.

"Oh really?" the half-dragon arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"You seemed at ease, and you're more positive," he chuckled lightly. "But just as stubborn and sarcastic,"

She snorted. "I wouldn't be the half-dragon you first met if I'm neither stubborn nor sarcastic," They both laughed, and unknowingly he held her hand, their fingers crossed with each other, connected tightly. Quietly, they both stared at the meagre flame burning in the brazier, not asking questions nor talking, just enjoying each other's company.

"Jarvan," she broke the silence first. The prince hummed, letting her continue.

"You know you shouldn't hide from me," she warned.

The prince gave an exasperated sigh. "It's nothing but lousy poetry," he gave in, and turned over the yellow paper which he had scribbled upon earlier. The ink was a little smudged, but the half-dragon could make out the prince's smooth handwriting – a poem complete with seven stanzas:

_From my dreams I see a door,_

_Of which a dark mass emerged,_

_Swallowing seas and leveling mountains._

_From my dreams the soldiers implore,_

_Under a thousand flags of a million colours,_

_Standing against an army of broken steel._

_From my dreams I see chaos,_

_Tall spires and white domes crumbling to dust,_

_A percussion to a dragon's piteous cries._

_From my dreams I hold a child of mythos,_

_Wrapped in swathes of blue and gold,_

_Of ocean eyes and fine gold hair._

_From my dreams I hear the mayhem,_

_The city of glory turned to hell,_

_Dreams shattered and all pride forgotten._

_From my dreams I feel their sorrow,_

_Two victims claimed in the name of war,_

_Breathing their last by a desolate ruin._

_From my nightmare I see a nemesis,_

_His form, a monstrous black demon,_

_Tearing through me, as my screams fade._

Shyvana whistled. "Never took you for someone poetic,"

"I am a prince," Jarvan scoffed. "I have to learn to fight, just as I have to learn art, music and poetry. Lord Laurent and Lady Buvelle had been fantastic teachers, but I was a terrible pupil,"

She studied the poem that the prince had written. "You don't need a poet to tell how gloomy this is,"

Jarvan rapped his fingers against the desk. He swallowed hard before answering, "When that demon took over my body while we were caught by the Gray Order, he showed me glimpses of the future. A foreshadowing,"

Shyvana kept quiet and let him continue. She knew how terrifying the future can be once someone had knowledge of it. Sometimes it is better for one to be oblivious to their future.

"This," he nodded at the poem he had written. "Was what he had shown me. They were nothing but flashes, like bits and pieces of a giant picture. But it's enough to understand that my future is a terrible one,"

The half-dragon shrugged. "What is life without a few bumps in the way? Maybe these are challenges, made for you to face,"

"The demon said he saw my death," the prince mumbled, and Shyvana could feel fear in his voice.

"The last stanza..."

"I saw what I saw," he inhaled sharply. "Swain, tearing me apart in a monstrous form. That six-eyed raven, it's a sign. He always carried a raven with him. And I felt it,"

"It could mean something else," Shyvana tried to assure him, to no avail. "Prophecies don't always mean what they mean. It could symbolize something else,"

When the prince remained silent and unconvinced with the half-dragon's words, Shyvana sighed and held one of his hands, then spread his fingers apart and gently rubbed his palm. The gesture comforted him slightly, somehow.

"At least you are warned. You won't be caught off guard then,"

Jarvan pursed his lips. "Are you going to Ionia?" he averted the subject, and asked her a question that she avoided all this while. The half-dragon looked away from the prince's gaze, and swallowed hard before answering.

"Yes," her answer was brief and solemn. The prince's gaze fell.

"Then will you stay with me tonight? Not to do anything but... let me just hold you while I can,"

She arched an eyebrow. "I am supposed to watch the night,"

The prince gestured, and the half-dragon looked to her left. Illuminated by the campfire, there were two shadows sitting around the fire – one of them was honing his swords, and the other one was biting on a fig to pass the time. They both seemed to have been there quite a while.

"You are tired, give yourself a break," the half-dragon looked at the prince, whose eyes had turned melancholic, and he smiled a sad smile. "I will miss you terribly,"

The half-dragon shook her head, denying the truth, but her heart told her otherwise.

"It's not the end," _Yes, this is pretty much it. _"We can always write to each other, we'll keep in touch," _What are the odds that our letters would reach each other?_ "We'll see each other again, I'm sure," _We won't have the chance to meet again._

Jarvan only smiled sadly, neither agreeing nor denying whatever she said. His fingers reached for her cheek. She trembled slightly when the tips of his fingers ghosted across her skin, feeling the scales near her eyes. Slowly, he leaned in, closing his eyes and tilting his face, reaching for her lips.

When their lips finally touched, Shyvana sighed, and felt her shoulders relax. All her worries vanished, and in that moment, it felt as though the world belonged to them and only them.

* * *

Their road to the next port was a long one, but it was one she enjoyed.

The jungle beneath the Ironspike Mountains was full of game, and beasts that were difficult to hunt. But the prince had a half-dragon on his side, and every beast they hunted was an easy challenge for them.

For every monster they had taken down, the prince would carve its spoil and wear it as a trophy, decorating his plain armour as his personal golden armour was far too damaged to be used. Only the helmet remained, with its brilliant Demacian jewel gleaming in the middle.

It took them two nights to reach the next port, but Shyvana dreaded arriving at the port. Somehow she wished the journey would last forever, as much as she tried to cherish every moment with the prince. As mentioned, they would lay together in bed every night, barely sleeping or talking to each other, just enjoying the embrace and the silence that surrounded them.

The night before they reached the port, the prince and the half-dragon laid amongst the furs on Jarvan's makeshift bed, his hand aimlessly rubbing circles on her bare stomach. They barely slept, and the half-dragon just stared at the darkness in a daze, not saying anything.

"What will you do in Ionia?" the prince suddenly asked, then pressed a kiss upon the back of her head.

She shrugged. "I'll have to find Ao Shin, and learn my father's history. The only thing I know about him is his name. I was told to seek a monastery, and a man named Udyr,"

"This... _Ao Shin_," Jarvan's tongue curled as he pronounced the foreign name. "Is he like your father?"

"He claimed himself to be a Celestial dragon. I suppose so,"

"Celestial dragons," he said in awe. "I've heard nothing but fables about them when I was a child. There were only five of them in this world, and their names were as commonly heard as they were commonly seen, and so far there were no records on any of them. But to think that I've come across the child of a Celestial dragon..."

"It may sound magnificent. But I have none of my father's traits," she said, disappointed. She turned towards the prince, and intrigue shone in her eyes. "Tell me about those stories,"

"As I said there were five of them. And no one knew their names," he recalled. "But they had titles – the Tree of Life, or the dragon who birthed the world..."

Shyvana scowled. "That doesn't make sense,"

He ignored her and continued. "The Star Forger, the dragon who bestows power to the chosen ones... The Storm Dragon, the dragon who shapes influence... The Golden Sign..."

"That's my father. That's what Ao Shin called him," she interrupted.

"... the dragon who teaches creatures to adapt and survive. And the Silent Judge, who decides the right from the wrong,"

"And none of the humans have seen these dragons?"

"No," Jarvan said. "Some claimed they have caught sight of them, but most of them were either hoaxes, or had insufficient evidence to prove. How are you going to search for a Celestial dragon in a land you barely know?"

"I'll find a way," Shyvana insisted. "I have to. He gave me a hint anyway,"

"Well, you'll do fine, I bet," Jarvan assured. "Ionia is a peaceful nation,"

"Maybe," the half-dragon mumbled half-heartedly, and hugged the prince tighter.

* * *

When the sun rose, they were already at the port. The half-dragon wore a long robe that concealed the golden cloak and her inhuman traits, a cowl pulled over her face so no one could see her. A plank was raised at the dock, leading to a trader's ship by the name of _Geum-gang_, whose hull was painted with bright gold and had sails of pale yellow fluttering in the air. It was an Ionian ship, heading to the port of Gori in an hour's time.

The prince and his men stood, bidding the half-dragon farewell. She was waiting for the Ionian captain's signal so she could board the ship, and she stared at Jarvan longingly.

"This is goodbye then," Jarvan broke the silence, and smiled sadly.

"You've done plenty for me, you and your men," she bowed a little. Even August nodded, though his face remained stoic, and did not make any biting remarks. "I'm sorry for Alfie, and the men you lost,"

"It isn't your fault. I should have done better," Jarvan lamented. "I'll return to Demacia after this, and take my rightful place as the prince. It's time for me to learn the arts of politics, and the knowledge of government – if I can't lead my subjects well, I can't be an heir to the throne,"

"I wish you the best, Prince Jarvan," Shyvana nodded at him. The captain hollered, and she turned away, ready to board the ship, until Jarvan grabbed ahold of her hand.

"Shyvana," he spoke a little too quickly, and she looked at him. She saw desperation in his eyes, but she knew he would not force her to go with him, as much as she wanted to. She knew he would understand her wishes.

"This... A gift from me," he spread open her palm, and placed something in her hand. When he moved his hand away, she saw a small diamond shaped trinket in brilliant sapphire blue, held by a woven chain. A necklace, which the diamond was obviously shaped from Demacian sapphire.

And there was only one way he could get it from.

"This..." her eyes widened, and she looked at him, dumbfounded.

"I chipped a little off the jewel," he admitted. "It was an adventure of a lifetime, an adventure worth remembering. I want you to keep this memory forever with you,"

Before she could say anything, the prince leaned in and sealed her lips with a kiss. He did not care if his men saw, and she soon gave in and kissed him back, holding the trinket dearly to herself. When they pulled back, he tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.

"Don't ever forget me, Shyvana,"

"And neither should you," she smiled. "It has been nice knowing you, prince,"

"Promise me you'll write,"

"I will," she nodded. The captain shouted again, impatiently, and she looked back to acknowledge him. "I have to go now. Farewell," with that she turned, before looking longingly at him one last time.

"Farewell," the prince bade. He watched as the half-dragon, the first love of his life walk up the plank to the Ionian ship, every step echoing the sadness in his heart. He watched as the plank was raised, and the anchor after that, and he counted the seconds until the ship sailed away and its size was no bigger than his thumb.

And then, he and his men left, beginning their journey back home where he rightfully belonged.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Jarvan, Shyvana stood at the deck, leaning over the wooden railing and staring at the port that grew smaller and smaller as the ship covered a great distance over the sea. Her enhanced eye sight allowed her to see as the prince turned his back and leave the port, and with that she heaved a sigh.

Her new journey had begun.

Aboard the ship, men hustled around, shouting in a language she knew she would soon have to learn. The only thing she knew about Ionia was that they speak a hundred different dialects, and it would be difficult to look for someone who can speak in the common tongue. Even their culture seemed foreign to the rest of Valoran, a hundred times different compared to Noxus or Demacia or Piltover, where their cultures at least shared some similarities.

She stared at the open sea as _Geum-gang_ sailed swiftly. She wasn't aware of an Ionian man behind her.

"What are you staring at, child?" He spoke. She frowned slightly, instantly recognising his voice.

"Nothing that concerns you," she gave a snarky remark, which the man snorted. He stood beside her, and from the corner of her eyes she could see that he was wearing the same white Ionian robes with golden trails, but this time there was no cowl covering his face – his storm grey eyes were fully visible, and she could see his fine white hair that was braided Ionian style, flowing down his back, his ashen grey beard that stretched to his chest. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his jaw was well-defined as well, befitting a man that exuded power and confidence.

Shyvana suddenly remembered something the prince had told her. "You are the dragon that shapes influence. The Storm Dragon,"

The old man chuckled. "Perhaps? But for now I am known as Cheon-Wu, just a simple traveller that is heading back to his hometown after a long trip away from Ionia,"

Shyvana ignored his sarcasm. "You don't seem very influential to me,"

"That's what you think," Ao Shin, or Cheon-Wu as he called himself, scoffed. "What you've heard is a legend lost to time. The younger generation of Ionia has completely abandoned the legends of the Storm Dragon, they prefer the finer luxuries in life to learning their roots,"

"So, you've lost your influence?" Shyvana joked.

If he seemed irritated, he did not show it. "I've never had influence. I told you, I'm just a traveller by the name of Cheon-Wu,"

The half-dragon turned solemn. "I thought I was suppose to find you in Ionia, yet you found me,"

"I know exactly where you are," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why make me look for you then?"

"I wanted to see if you are as good as your father claims you to be," Cheon-Wu stroked his beard. "Your father often exaggerates, just like how he exaggerated the fact that the knowledge of shapeshifting is too much for _anyone _to learn. Yet I mastered it,"

Shyvana scoffed. "Yet you can only shapeshift into one form._ Ha!_"

Cheon-Wu narrowed his eyes at her, but then paid her no heed.

"Why didn't you follow him back?" He suddenly asked. She was taken aback by his question and fumbled with her words.

"Follow... Follow what?"

"Have you lost your wits, child?" Cheon-Wu snapped. "The prince could have given you everything you wanted, but you kicked the chance away. If that isn't stupid I don't know what it is,"

She felt her anger flare, and she snapped at the man. "You wanted me to come to you, old man,"

"Is that the best insult you can think of?" Cheon-Wu taunted. "Remember, it's what your father wanted. Your father's dead now. You are free to go wherever you want. Although you must come to me and learn sooner or later, it doesn't have to be _now,_"

Shyvana looked at him, confused.

"You won't be dead for a few decades, _halfwit_," Cheon-Wu clicked his tongue. "You can't achieve anything for now, might as well make yourself worthy before coming to me, "

The half-dragon frowned, "First you asked me to come to Ionia,and now you want me to do something else. Why should I do exactly as you ask?"

"Because that's exactly what you want,"

The half-dragon kept quiet, unable to deny the truth. Cheon-Wu smirked triumphantly.

"He's not far behind," the old man said. "Probably a few leagues away from the port. You can still get to him, before it's too late,"

"What about my father's wishes?" Shyvana asked. "I still have to learn from you,"

Cheon-Wu clicked his tongue impatiently. "That can come later. You're nothing but a nameless half-dragon right now. Go earn yourself some glory while you can, child, then come to me after you've grown bored of fancy buildings and strict soldier's code. Last I heard, the Measured Thread can be rather cumbersome,"

Shyvana sighed. "It won't be easy to adjust in a new society. Most people fear me,"

The self-acclaimed traveller stroked his beard, and tutted in disdain. His storm grey eyes flashed with irritation. "When is life ever easy? Are you dumb?"

The young half-dragon made a noise akin to annoyance, then without hesitation she removed her disguise, revealing the golden cloak which instantly drew everyone's attention aboard the ship. She heard gasps, but it barely mattered. Within moments she covered herself in flames, gave a mighty roar as her body shifted and grew into a full-grown dragon.

Gasps heightened to shouts of wonder and fear. With a leap, the half-dragon took to the skies, her wings spread far apart as she flew towards the direction that the ship had been moving away from.

On _Geum-gang_, Cheon-Wu noticed the charred wooden deck where Shyvana stood moments ago, tiny embers still alight on the spot. He released an exasperated sigh, and mumbled to himself in fluent Ionian. "I'll have to explain the mess to the captain,"

But he looked up again, where the skies were bluer than they ever were, and the half-dragon's silhouette grew smaller and smaller. His eyes turned dark, and he thought: _May your father watch over your path. It's a long road ahead for you._

* * *

"We are just two leagues away from Howling Marsh, sire," Lance said, holding a map and a compass in his hand. They had left the port and entered deep into the jungle that would lead them past the Ironspike Mountain ranges. It would probably be a few days before they return to Demacia, so they had stocked up on rations back at the port.

The prince said nothing, once again donning his helmet that shimmered under the sunlight. August had felt how solemn the prince had become after the half-dragon had left, but he made no comment about it. There was no time for moping around – they all wanted to be at home as soon as possible.

The prince was left to his own thoughts, and he thought about the idea of finally getting home, after years of being away from his actual responsibilities.

It felt overwhelmingly exciting, but at the same time, he feared what came after.

What if the good people of Demacia saw his journey of atonement as an act of cowardice, an irresponsible action that did not befit a true Demacian? What if he walked through the gates of Demacia and got arrested immediately to be punished, instead of being welcomed as the rightful prince he was?

His hand reached for the Measured Thread, an item that was given to every Demacian once they were of age. They had to memorize the principles of the Measured Thread by heart, and one line echoed in Jarvan's mind over and over again. _Honor above all else, duty before self._

Will he be forgiven by the people of Demacia, or will he be labelled as weak, and forced to denounce himself as the Crown Prince of Demacia?

_No,_ he justified. _We aren't Noxians. Strength is just a trait. Discipline and honor triumphs all else. The people are loyal, I will be given a chance to prove myself again. _

He could only hope.

"Prince," August called out. He sounded winded, and when Jarvan looked at his soldier, August had a shocked expression on his face. He looked at where he pointed, and it didn't take him long to make out a figure that had blotted out the sun, growing bigger as it neared the prince.

He recognized her immediately.

"Shyvana?" he was confused, yet more than happy to see her. The half-dragon glided towards the company, before folding her wings as she approached them and landed upon the soft soil with a thud.

A ring of fire surrounded her as she reverted back to her human form. She appeared flushed and winded, panting through her teeth. She was free of guise, save for the golden cloak that caught the sun's shimmering rays, casting diamonds of light everywhere.

The prince stared at her, with his mouth wide opened. He was puzzled, and what came out was a stutter, before forming a single word. "H-how?"

She inhaled deeply, calming her nerves before breaking into a wide grin. "I accept your offer,"

His soldiers appeared just as shocked. "My offer?" the prince confirmed. "I don't wish to force you onto this, but are you sure?"

"Yes," the half-dragon answered without hesitation. "I'll come with you. And I will stand next to you when you ascend to the throne, in return for your kindness,"

Jarvan stared at her, dumbfounded. Their eyes met, and he could see how serious and sincere she was.

"Allow me to repay you," she said.

The prince's lips trembled, before forming a smile. They could feel their eyes watering, and it felt as though they had forgotten about the other two soldiers' presence.

Then August cleared his throat, and they turned to him.

"She's not a Demacian, prince," August protested. "She has zero loyalty to Demacia, and the people will not accept her,"

Jarvan stared at his soldier. "August –"

August then fixed his gaze on the half-dragon. "But if you wish to take her home, she has to pledge her allegiance to the Lightshields, and swear to uphold everything that is Demacian. Her loyalty is to the throne, and to turn her back on Demacia is to sentence herself to death,"

The prince nodded in understanding, then turned back to Shyvana, whose gaze was determined and unfaltering. He brandished his lance and donned his helmet, the bright blue jewel gleaming just as bright as the piece of sapphire hanging from the half-dragon's neck. With a voice befitting a commander, the prince spoke:

"Shyvana, the half-dragon. Do you swear your loyalty to the royal family of my home, Demacia? Do you vow to protect the Lightshields and the fellow citizens with your own life, and uphold the dignity of our nation so we may triumph against our nemeses?"

Unexpectedly, the half-dragon knelt, her fiery eyes fixed upon the prince's. She laid her gauntlets – her only weapons, before Jarvan's feet.

"There is only one person whom my life belongs to, and he is Jarvan Lightshield, Fourth of His Name and Crown Prince of Demacia. With my flames and my gauntlets, the enemies of Demacia will fall,"

The prince smiled.

"Then as the Prince of Demacia, I name you a loyal subject of the throne, and grant you citizenship of the city,"

* * *

Cheon-Wu had been to the Astral Grove more than half a hundred times, yet every time he visits the Grove, he swore that he could find different minute details in the surroundings – the scarce shift of hues among the leaves, the tendrils and thorns that had grown more sparsely, or the slight, vivacious hum that he heard every time he walked past the humming tree's domain.

He had shaped this realm to match her beauty, grace and magnificence. Yet it never failed to amaze him every time he paid a visit.

He headed to the centre of the Grove, where the Star Child sat cross-legged meditating in a circle of flat grass. Her staff, shaped like a golden crescent, laid floating before her, humming with energy.

"You've returned," Soraka suddenly opened her eyes, acknowledging his existence. Her braided black hair flowed behind her, and Cheon-Wu sighed at the beautiful sight. "And you returned alone?"

Cheon-Wu shrugged. "My _niece _has her own agenda,"

Soraka arched an eyebrow. "Niece?"

"After all, she's my brother's daughter," Cheon-Wu sat down in front of her, his legs crossed. With a wave of his hand, the soft branches and twigs around them began moving on their own, criss-crossing and weaving to form a table in between them. Several branches brought forth a china set made of clay, and a special teapot made from bark cleanly shaved off the elder oak trees. It whistled as it boiled miraculously, and tendrils wrapped around the ear of the teapot, serving hot tea to both Soraka and Cheon-Wu.

"You assume this form every time you visit," Soraka mused. "Are you so eager to become human?"

"Nonsense," Cheon-Wu dismissed with a wave of his hand. He brought the cup to his lips, sipping the freshly brewed tea. "If I were to enter the Grove in my true form, I would risk collapsing this realm that has taken me centuries to create!"

Soraka only chuckled. He smiled, knowing that they both enjoyed each others' company.

"Do you miss being human, Soraka?" Cheon-Wu suddenly asked. Sometimes he wondered if his gift of ascending her to a Celestial Being was actually a curse for her.

The Star Child blinked. "I do," she admitted. "But I also enjoy the peace and quiet you've given me. I can still help those in need – the Grove makes it possible,"

Cheon-Wu nodded, but it was obvious that he was unconvinced.

"Let's speak of your _niece_, Cheon-Wu," Soraka smiled. "I can see that she is very feisty,"

Cheon-Wu snorted. "A little too hot-headed for my liking,"

"What are dragons, if not hot-headed?"

The Storm Dragon frowned. "Are you calling me hot-headed?"

"Do not deny it, Ao Shin," she teased. "But why have you let her go? Didn't you want to repay what Aurus Signum had done for you?"

"I want to. Badly," Cheon-Wu took another sip. "But Signum would want his daughter to achieve something greater in life. Something that she can be proud of. That is something I cannot interfere,"

Soraka remained silent, allowing him to continue.

"There is always a chance for me to repay my debts in the future," Cheon-Wu said. What followed after was a thick silence, as though the atmosphere had grown solemn. "Have you had a glimpse, Star Child?"

Soraka knew what he was referring to. She pursed her lips, before nodding firmly. "I have. The Celestials have shown me,"

"It's a warning," Cheon-Wu declared. "Worse, it's a foreshadowing. The future has already been set in motion. Not even us can change it,"

"By then, you will have prepared her for what comes after,"

"If _they _allow me," Cheon-Wu said. "We are the only ones who have seen the _blood storm_, we have no choice but to prepare her for it. She and the rest of them. Shyvana has to fulfill her role before her demise, and I only hope it's not too soon,"

* * *

**And that's a wrap. **

**First of all, I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story, and for your never-ending support. The reviews are what motivate me to continue writing the story until the end. I hope everyone enjoyed it. **

**Now, my next work will not be the sequel to this story (there's still a long way to go). My next story will be set in Ionia, and the lead characters will be Yasuo and Ahri. It's a short story, one that only follows the lore of League of Legends partially. With Riot reworking the lore and universe, I have no intention to wait for them to finish reworking everything just to get canon sources. Some will still be related to the old lore (character background, for example), however. **

**So, I hope you guys look forward to it. And if you're interested, I would appreciate it if you guys show your continuous support. **

**As for the title of the story: The Frozen Flower. **


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